


The Tulip Planet

by tprillahfiction



Series: Questions, Questions [3]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Animated Series, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst and Porn, Annoyed Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Ballroom Dancing, Celebrities, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sex, Farce, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Leonard "Bones" McCoy is So Done, M/M, McCoy is famous, Pop Culture, Slow Build, Slow Dancing, comedy with serious parts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: The Enterprise visits a bizarre planet called "Tulip II".  The Tulipians are obsessed with Earth popular culture and hedonism and consider Dr. McCoy to be a celebrity. Tulip II's leader and people are also intent on making McCoy and Mr. Spock into planet Tulip II's #1 royal romantic couple. McCoy and Spock resist this, at first, then embrace it. In the meantime McCoy has to examine who he is and what's important to him.  (You don't need to read my other fic in the series to understand this one.)Chapter 11 is up! (sorry for the late update)
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Original Female Character(s), Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Original Character(s), Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Series: Questions, Questions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/265624
Comments: 25
Kudos: 47





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been sitting around for awhile on my hard-drive, and on my drafts here, so I thought I'd go ahead and post this before the draft disappeared. Multi-parter. Bear with me, I'm dealing with some health issues so I'll try to post chapters as soon as I can. This originally appeared in Spiced Peaches, but I've rewritten some of it.

He could just about die of embarrassment. He'd been avoiding Spock since it had happened.

Those goddamned physicals had finally been completed, including Science Officer Spock’s. Mr. Spock had been required to give a semen sample for this particular physical exam, required by Starfleet Command, and obtaining the sample was like pulling teeth, it really was. However he understood how embarrassing, how humiliating it must have been for the Vulcan, what he had to do to get that sample. Basically, to the uninitiated, for a semen sample, a male officer or crewman had to go into the head and uh--they were handed some porn material to view on a tablet, and a sample cup to... you know, ejaculate into it. So to reiterate, they had to masturbate into a sample cup, then presto! Semen sample. Fun and easy right? He'd had to do it himself, countless times, for his own exams. 

Obviously it wasn't going to be a cakewalk with Mr. Spock. Wasn't going to be 'fun' nor 'easy'. This was Spock we were talking about. No, the Vulcan had to get his in a unique way.

And he'd helped Spock get that sample. He didn't like to think of how. He just preferred to think of the success of obtaining that sample. Now Starfleet was happy, everybody was happy. Well, except himself. He was...

He was able to run all the required tests on that goddamned semen sample Spock had given. Now it was official, Spock was as healthy as a Vulcan horse. Great.

"Don't fucking think about it," he kept muttering to himself. The first time Nurse Chapel had looked at him screwy. But she knew he often talked to himself so what was HER problem? 

But he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. How he had helped Spock get that sample. Every morning when he woke up he thought about it. He tried to bury himself in his charting, but then sometimes during his shift, his mind would wander. He just wanted to forget it ever happened. 

'The incident', he called it.

On the bright side, Mr. Spock had seemed happier or at least less uptight after what they had done together. Alright then, fine, he'll admit what it was instead of beating around the proverbial bush: They had 'engaged in mutual masturbation' together. He and Spock. Not in the same room. Via video. They weren't weren't in bed together, didn't physically have sexual intercourse, but they still shouldn't have done that act. They had stroked their dicks together during a dirty comm to put it bluntly, during what they used to call a dirty phone call, or jacking off to a cam boy or mutual porno or something like that. Oh Jesus.

"Dammit, don't fucking think about it," he muttered again.

"Don't think about what, Doctor?" Nurse Chapel had asked for the umpteenth time. 

"Nothing, mind your own business," he'd snapped back for the umpteenth time.

She was close to getting out the butterfly net, he could feel it.

Dammit, he was blushing again. He felt his face grow hot. He knew his own behavior had been, to coin a medical term… 'icky'. Yes, that's a fucking medical term if he said so, dammit. 'Icky' was in Grey's Anatomy book, wasn't it?

So how did it actually go down--How did it happen? The incident? Well, that blasted Vulcan had contacted him in his quarters over the comm system, late one night, asking for help in making the sample, requesting a legitimate medical consult, needing the doctor's medical expertise in a private matter and here he, Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, had wound up going overboard in an attempt to help the Vulcan, masturbating along with him— taking advantage, engaging in a mutual self gratification session, letting the first officer see his hard dick, via the screen, ultimately spraying come all over it while the first officer ejaculated into a specimen cup— like a goddamned pervert.

He hadn’t dared confess to Jim what he’d done with Spock that night, the incident, even off the record, lest he lose his medical license over this episode. Jim probably wouldn’t have disciplined him, would have just laughed and kept his confidence. Jim had probably engaged in the same kind of activities—but dammit, he was a physician. He wasn’t supposed to be engaging in sexual activity with a patient, especially on a ‘house call’ there was this thing called ‘ethics’. He was supposed to be better than this. The guilt on its own was killing him. Shame. Shame on him. Never again could he do something like this.

And so he dealt with this in the best way he knew how. He didn’t. He swept everything under the rug. He stayed out of Spock’s way. Avoided the goddamned Vulcan. It seemed Spock was doing the same to him. Well…good. No mutual experiments in the lab. No sitting together in the officer’s mess at meals. No chit- chatting or discussions (or arguments, depending on which witness you talked to) in the corridors. Maybe it was better that way. See. They weren’t involved. Hadn’t done anything naughty together at all. They could both pretend it never happened.

And now they’d both managed to act as if the other didn’t exist for a standard month. When they did have to interact with each other, in staff meetings or on the bridge (though McCoy been steering clear of that place too, telling Jim he was very busy with physicals and paperwork, to head off any questions) they were both very professional and logical and nothing was amiss and nobody on board the Enterprise had noticed ANY difference in his behavior whatsoever. It was a relief, because he couldn’t deal with any probing questions at the moment otherwise he might break down and spill the beans, and hell he could keep this going on for the entire five year mission if need be—

“Bones.”

McCoy set down his coffee cup in Officer's Mess A. “Huh?”

“You’re off in la la land again.”

“Am I?”

“What’s with you lately?”

McCoy scowled. “Huh?”

“I said, what’s with you lately. You’ve been acting downright weird. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Jim.” McCoy picked up his coffee, took another sip. Goddammit, it had gotten cold. He slammed the cup down on his tray.

“Bullshit.”

“I’m just tired that’s all. Got some things in sickbay to attend to. Goddamned Connors and his fractured Tib-Fib and his fucked up vitals. I had to repair that all fucking morning. I’m exhausted.”

“I don’t buy it. You’ve been in a weird snit all month.”

“You try dealing with 350 crybabies on board this ship. I think Connors has broken every fucking bone in his body, Jim. He’s a fucking nightmare.”

“Right Bones, blame Connors. You’re a grouch at the best of times, but you’re even more of an asshole, lately.”

“Stop looking at me like that, Jim, I’m swamped. I’m trying to get all of these goddamned physicals completed. I’ve got Starfleet Medical breathing down my neck. It’s nothing short of a goddamned miracle I’ve managed to perform all of my duties in a timely manner. Then, in a few months I have to repeat the fucking process all over again. I’m telling you, Jim.”

But the captain’s attention had wavered. “Hello, Spock! Over here!”

McCoy tensed. He couldn’t help but look over and accidentally meet the first officer’s eyes. They exchanged a curious expression then both glanced away at the same time. McCoy flashed Jim an innocent look. The captain’s eyes narrowed. Shit. He’d noticed.

Spock held his tray of Plomeek soup and some kind of alien herbal tea, the smell of it was assaulting McCoy’s nostrils. “Greetings Captain. Doctor.”

“Mr. Spock, why don’t you sit down?” Jim waved to an empty chair. “Dr. McCoy and I were just—”

“Leaving, Captain,” McCoy broke in, standing up, at complete attention (for effect). “Mr. Spock please take my seat, I’ve been keeping it warm for you.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Is a warm seat a good thing?”

McCoy blushed but could not look at the first officer. “Smart ass,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ah, finally!” Jim said.

“Captain?” Both Spock and McCoy said at the same time. With the same cocked eyebrow.

“There’s that Spock and Bones banter I know and love.”

“I assure you captain, there is no love involved,” Spock replied.

“Where’d he pick up that deadly sense of humor, Bones? From you?” Jim teased.

"He hasn't gotten anything from me!"

"What, Bones?" Jim asked. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing." McCoy felt his face grow hot. He shook his head. “By your leave, Captain. Commander.” He never called Spock by his rank. But he did now. 

He nodded at Jim, turned on his heel and got the hell out of there.

*

There was one awkward day where they found themselves alone in the turbolift together. Spock strode in. "Hello Doctor."

McCoy nodded, stared straight ahead. "Commander Spock." 

Spock seemed amused at McCoy's use of rank. "Are you on your way up to the bridge?"

"Yep."

"I see."

McCoy wanted to yell out: 'Isn't it obvious where I'm headed, you pointy eared Vulcan?' but he didn't and Spock didn't say anything further. Maybe this was Spock's way of making small talk, but you could slice the air with a knife. 

The bridge doors opened, they strode out, not speaking. McCoy didn't say a word at nor even look at the Vulcan during his entire visit to the bridge. 

Yeah, Jim noticed.

*

"What the hell's with you two, Bones?" Jim demanded in the officers' mess.

"Nothin'." 

"My ass, nothing. You two get into a horrific fight about science?"

"Yeah," McCoy lied. "Spock trying to tell me there's no such thing as a stop codon in the DNA of the human body. What an idiot."

"That's what you're pissed off about?"

"Wouldn't you be, Jim?"

"Sure, okay. Yeah, that's totally something to be upset about. Yeah, I can understand not being on speaking terms for an entire month over that."

*

It was obvious Jim was on to him, so over the next week, he overcompensated in the other direction: Teasing the first officer, needling him, harassing the pointy eared bastard, creating an argument over everything he could think of.

The thing was, Spock gave back as good as the Vulcan got. However every once in the while Spock got flustered over a wisecrack and he, Leonard McCoy was beginning to live for those times.  
_______________  
on to the next chapter


	2. Dancing and Keeping Secrets

A week later and they were orbiting the rainbow colored planet, Tulip II. Yes, that was the name of the damned planet. Starfleet hadn’t come up with that, in fact the class-M planet itself was uncharted and the queen had hailed the Enterprise and offered an invitation to beam down. The Tulipians seemed completely up to date with their tech as Earth was, maybe even more so. The inhabitants called themselves 'Tulipians'.

The queen, 'Queen Tulip of Tulip II', as she introduced herself, spoke to Jim in a grandmotherly way, via the viewscreen. Jim had tilted his head, furrowed his brow, when speaking with her. She seemed friendly enough, if odd. The two way conversation ended. 

"Well, that was an interesting queen, I must say," the captain said. 

"Fascinating," Spock said. 

"Are we going down there, Jim?" McCoy asked.

"I dunno," Jim replied. "I'll think about it."

"Well, when you make up your mind, I'll be in sickbay."

*

He had just fucking sat down in his office with a cup of coffee, when he got the summons: "Dr. McCoy to the transporter room." 

"Goddammit!"

*

Spock handed over a phaser and communicator to the captain and McCoy. McCoy checked again that his medical bag was firmly on his hip. One burly security guard Mr. O'Neil, Lieutenant Uhura and Yeoman Rand strode through the door, bringing the landing party to six.

“Walking around on Tulip II will do you good, Bones.” the captain said into McCoy’s ear. After your piss poor attitude all month long. Gorgeous down there. Beautiful colors. Never seen it occurring in those combinations in nature. Very festive.”

“I’m fine, Captain. Nothing wrong with my attitude,” McCoy insisted. He met the first officer’s eyes again, who with those damned ears had heard them loud and clear. They both quickly glanced away.

Jim sighed. “Get on the damned pads, Doctor. Scotty, energize.”

*

McCoy did a precursory sweep with his medical tricorder. The Tulipians were definitely humanoid and interestingly enough, they spoke federation standard, there was no need for the universal translator. Their planet was indeed gorgeous. There were cities, but the colors were all unusual for such a scene. Blue trees, purple sky that faded into red, and then orange. Bright pink sidewalks, multi-colored brickwork, yellow shrubs, everything in the spectrum, all together. It almost looked fake.

“It’s beautiful!” the captain said. “Looks better in person!”

“We are pleased you approve of our planet, Captain,” Queen Tulip of Tulip said. She wore a green boa, a tiara, a silver gown that complemented her rainbow hair or most likely a wig, with huge earrings and red high heels on her feet. She had minions following her every move, writing things down by hand with pink pencils, in palm sized notebooks. She looked definitely regal.

The captain pointed at Yeoman Rand. She held out her tricorder. “Recording, Sir.”

“Ah, what are you doing?” The queen asked.

“Recording the mission, Your Majesty,” Rand replied.

The captain broke in: “It’s one of her duties. We always create a visual record when we beam down to a planet. Our primary purpose is exploration.”

“Ah, no. No, no, no. No recording, please. Our planet is copyrighted.”

“Copyrighted?” the captain said. “I’m not sure you can--copyrighted?”

“Yes. I would have to sue you, if you do not cease and desist.” She indicated one of her minions. “This is my attorney.”

The captain was taken aback. “Oh. Alright. If you insist. But, we’re not using the information for any reason except for our library computer and—”

“Please, Captain. No recording.”

“Fine. Yeoman Rand, cease recording.”

“Yes Captain.”  
*

Apparently they were just in time for a huge banquet.

“You are all invited!” the queen said. “You’ll love the fare! It’s featuring Dr. McCoy’s favorite foods!”

McCoy’s jaw fell open before he managed: “My what?” But the queen had strolled off, yelling out commands to her minions.

“They must have scanned our library computer before we beamed down, Captain,” Spock said as they followed the procession to the banquet hall just down the road.

“My favorite foods are not in the library computer,” McCoy said. “They have to be pulling our legs.”

“Pulling our what?” Spock said.

“Having us on. As Mr. Kyle would say: ‘taking the piss.’”

“Taking the what?!” both the captain and Spock said.

“Never mind. I’m just trying to say: This is crazy.”

“So it’s going to be all southern barbecue. That’s not exactly what I had in mind for a banquet,” Kirk complained.

“Maybe they’ll have some peach pie,” McCoy said. “With ice cream.”

“That would not be so bad,” Spock said. 

“The pie?” McCoy said, raising an eyebrow. “Vulcans like pie?”

“We like ice cream.”

“Quiet,” Kirk ordered.  
  
*  
Inside the banquet hall, the colors were more ‘normal’. At least it what they were used to seeing in banquet halls all over the galaxy. Wooden tables with white lace tablecloths and beautiful red chairs surrounded a black and white dance floor, while a full band played songs.

And sure enough, waiters served silver platters piled high with pork ribs, baked potatoes piled high with butter, fresh cornbread, green bean casserole, corn on the cob and a few other items from back home. The color of the food was a bit brighter than usual, however with a quick scan of the tri-order it was deemed edible and not radioactive. Beverages on offer were coca-cola and whiskey and water and Mint Julips and chocolate malts. They were all going to have to be on strict diets after this meal.

“Mmmmm, hope it tastes as good as it smells,” McCoy said.

After the queen picked up her fork and began to eat, everybody else did. The captain spooned some Brunswick Stew. “What the hell is this?” He could say things like that, because the queen was far enough way, at a head table so that he couldn’t be overheard. McCoy hoped.

“They don’t eat Brunnie Stew in Iowa?” McCoy said.

“Nope.” Jim wrinkled up his nose at it. He took a bite.

“Your loss. My favorite version’s got possum meat in it.”

Jim retched.

“But I’m sure Possum wouldn’t be in that. Not this far out,” McCoy noted.

Spock poked dejectedly at a salad. “There is no ice-cream.”

“That’ll come later, I’m sure, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said. “No meal is complete in the south without dessert.” He picked up the mint julip, tasted it. “Oh my God. Delightful.”

“I’m glad you approve, Bones.”

McCoy had to smirk as Spock bit into a corn on the cob. Spock had picked it up with a fork, because he never ate with his hands. Ever.

*

After dessert was served, (as McCoy had expected, peach pie and ice cream that Jim also turned his nose up at), the Tulipian queen clapped her hands. Her earrings rattled as she did so. “As one of our pastimes, it is tradition to engage in traditional Earth dances of the early twentieth century. Are you knowledgeable about dancing, Captain?”

The captain hesitated. “Well--" he coughed into his hand before continuing,"-- I, uh, am aware of a variety of Earth dances in theory, but… early twentieth century? I’m afraid I don’t—what kind of dances did you mean? Our planet’s dancing styles are varied from country to country, decade to decade— what years are we talking about?”

“Hmmmph. You’d think you’d be well versed in dancing of all types.”

“Well, I’m a starship captain, not a Broadway star,” Jim quipped.

McCoy stuffed down a chuckle. Rand laughed too.

“I am afraid I don’t understand, Captain,” the queen said.

“What sort of Earth style dances were you intimating and what precise years? Our planet’s dancing changed dramatically from decade to decade.”

“Tonight we are performing a dance known as the ‘Jitterbug’,” the queen said.

“The what?” Spock said, spooning vanilla ice cream into his mouth.

“Jitterbug?” Kirk said.

“Indeed, Captain,” the queen replied.

“I’m sorry…nobody in our landing party knows how to dance that…I don’t think anyone of our landing party can….that’s going way back. Why not the ‘Tim, Tim’? That’s more contemporary.”

“Or the ‘Hell’s Katootie'?” McCoy offered.

“Hush, Bones,” Jim whispered. “Don’t give them any more ideas.”

“Oh, how disappointing. How downright disappointing,” the queen said. “You want to us to join this….Federation, when you cannot even perform a simple historical dance? How ghastly!”

There was a tense, awkward silence.

"How'd you know we were going to ask you to join the Federation?" the captain asked.

"Well, duh!" the queen replied.

“Wait a minute, Captain,” McCoy said. “Jitterbug’s another name for Swing. I can do a little bit of the East Coast Swing…some of the basic patterns….would that suffice?”

"Yay!" the queen said, and darted off.

“You can dance, Dr. McCoy?” Spock said, in an incredulous tone.

“Yes, I can, Commander,” McCoy shot back, still using the pointy eared bastard’s rank. “I used to swing dance in a club back in college. Yeah. I didn’t spend all my time studying. It’s how I met my ex-wife. There are a lot of talents I possess that nobody knows about.”

“That much is certain.”

McCoy pointedly ignored him. He got up and went around the long table. “Swing dancing requires a partner.” He began by pointing at Spock—who actually looked terrified for one glorious second— then he extended his hand to Lieutenant Uhura who sat next to the first officer. “Ma’am, may I have this dance?”

“I don’t know how to dance the jitterbug, Doctor,” she said.

“You dance and sing. I’ve seen you in the rec-room.”

“Ballet, tap. Those kinds of things. Not swing.”

“You’ll pick up the steps in no time.”

He took her off into a side room, they rehearsed for a few moments. She had indeed picked it up quickly. “Am I doing it, ok, Doc?” she said.

He smiled.

Hand in hand, they went out to rejoin the rest of them and the Tulipians were all on the dance floor, every goddamned one of them that had been in the banquet, Jitterbugging. Raunchy style. The rest of the Enterprise landing party was looking on with mouths open.

“Holy shit,” Uhura said. "Look at them. What in the hell are they doing?!"

“It’s ok, Honey, we’re not doing that. That’s more…advanced.”

“It looks obscene.”

“Yeah,” McCoy said, a bit too wistfully.

“We should do that, too,” Uhura said. "Like them."

He blushed and smiled, leaned forward to chuckle. “Alright, Honey, I have a feeling you’re gonna—” He was gonna say ‘wear me out’ but she’d already dragged him towards the black and white dance floor. They started dancing, timidly at first, what they’d rehearsed, then noting and incorporating the more advanced Jitterbug steps from the rest of the dancers. It seemed it was all coming back to him from years ago. The full band was playing ‘Boogie Woogie’ by Tommy Dorsey.

McCoy, at one point, grabbed Uhura by the waist, threw her over his head, she twisted around and landed on her feet, then down on her back and shimmied under his legs and didn’t miss a beat like a pro. He could feel the Enterprise landing party’s eyes boring into his back.

They must have looked damned good, dancing together, because Jim yelled out: “Go Bones!” and clapped.

The band leader got to the microphone, announced the next song. “Our next number is Dr. McCoy’s favorite—”

McCoy stopped short. “What?”

“Did you make a song request, Doc?” Uhura said.

“No.” He blinked.

“—Eager Beaver by Stan Kenton!”

“Holy shit,” McCoy breathed out. “It is my…or it was. How’d they know that.”

“They guessed, Doc, don’t worry about it,” Uhura said, grabbing him to dance, but he hesitated.

“Seems kinda, y’know, odd, they’d pick that one.”

“Why’s that, Doc?”

“I used to dance that with my wife, I mean my ex—how’d they know that?”

“Shut up and dance, Doc,” Uhura said.

He danced and danced with Uhura until he thought his feet might drop off. He finally walked over to the tables. Got himself a glass of whiskey from the bar. Sat down near Spock and Rand.

Uhura wanted to dance more, tried to drag him back out there. “I’m worn out, Honey,” he protested.

She finally grabbed the captain, he shook his head, but she yelled she’d teach him. And Jim tried, but honestly the captain had two left feet.

When McCoy finally glanced over, he noticed Spock staring, arms folded. The pointy eared first officer seemed to have procured a fresh bowl of ice cream. That had to have been his second serving. “Fascinating.”

“What’s so fascinating, Mr. Spock?”

Spock dipped his spoon into the ice cream. “I never knew you were so—”

“What, Mr. Spock?”

Spock shook his head, glanced over at the dance floor. The expression on his face, almost like the pointy eared bastard wanted to get out there.

“Why don’t you dance, Mr. Spock? You seem like the type. It’s always the quiet ones that surprise everybody, anyway.”

Spock shook his head, put some ice cream into his mouth. “I have been trained, on Vulcan, in our traditional partner dances, however—”

McCoy leaned his head into his hand. “But what?”

“It would be improper for me to do so.”

“Since when do you care about what’s proper, Spock?” he teased under his breath.

Spock gave him a look. This was the first time they’d actually spoken to each other rather than at each other, first time they’d really talked to each other, since the…uh… incident. They both knew it, too.

“Maybe Miss Rand’s feeling neglected,” McCoy said, louder. “Mr. Spock, you should ask her to—”

“No, I’m not! I’m just fine, right here as a spectator!” Yeoman Rand said.

McCoy threw up his hands. “Fine, Miss Rand doesn’t wanna dance. Well, alright then!”

Spock continued to watch the dancing, eating his ice cream. McCoy kept stealing glances at the first officer then finally: “Wanna dance, Spock? With me?”

“Really Doctor?” If McCoy didn’t know this pointy eared bastard better he would have sworn Spock had said that in a flirtatious voice. 

“I suppose not.” McCoy pouted. “Janice, how many bowls of ice cream he had?” he drawled out as he cocked his thumb at the first officer. Yeah alright, he was a little inebriated at this point and getting a little loose with his wording.

“What, Doctor?” Rand grimaced. “Kindly run that by me again, Sir?”

He repeated it, more deliberately. “How much ice-cream has Mr. Spock consumed this evening?”

Janice looked. “That’s got to be his fourth bowl.”

“It is not,” Spock scoffed.

“Jesus Christ,” McCoy said.

“The bowls are small,” Spock tried to explain.

“The bowls are small,” McCoy mocked. He took a spoon and stole some of Spock’s ice cream. “You need to work some of that shit off.”

Spock took his bowl back. “I have a high resting metabolism.”

“Why don’t you two flip for it?” Rand suggested, lazily, maybe she was sick of watching them flirt, McCoy didn’t know.

“I’d like to, Honey, but I don’t have one of them there coins, y’know, like they had back in the day,” McCoy drawled out.

“What?”

Spock answered: “Dr. McCoy said, Miss Rand, that he does not possess a coin. I surmise doctor, one utilizes this object in the game of chance.”

“Very good, Mr. Spock, very good. Both in interpreting my English for the young lady here and knowing about flipping a coin. Yes, Janice, we do not have a coin. My kingdom for a coin. I’d sell my soul to the devil for a coin.”

“Isn’t it cute when the doctor is drunk off his ass?” Janice said.

“I am not drunk.”

Both Janice and Spock scoffed at that.

“Must be your lucky day, Doctor.” Janice held one up, an old American dollar piece.

“Where’d you get that?”

“It’s mine. I carry it with me for good luck.”

“No shit? Give it here.” Janice tossed it over. McCoy twirled it in his fingers. “Would you look at that.”

Spock shrugged, unimpressed.

“Mr. Spock’s not impressed with my parlor tricks,” McCoy said. “Took me forever to master that, you asshole.”

“Flip the goddamned coin,” Janice said.

“Yes Ma’am. Call it, Mr. Spock, heads or tails,” McCoy said. “When I throw it in the air.”

“No.”

“Call it, Mr. Spock.” McCoy tossed it into the air.

“Heads,” Spock said.

McCoy caught it and smacked it onto his wrist. “Heads we don’t dance. Tails we do. What do you think, Mr. Spock?”

Before he could lift his hand off, Spock grabbed onto his wrist. “Slow dance. I will not Jitterbug.”

“Next slow one. Heads we don’t, tails we do.”

Spock grabbed the coin off of McCoy’s wrist. He tossed it back to Rand.

“The hell you do that for?” McCoy hissed.

“The next slow song,” Spock said. “We will dance.”

It just so happened the band began to play ‘Stardust’ the version by Artie Shaw, a slow song.

Now McCoy found himself chickening out. “I’ll pass.”

“You are the one who wanted to dance, Doctor.”

“S’alright, was only pulling your chain, fucking with you. It’s allright.”

Spock came up next to him, jerked him to his feet. “If you can walk, you will accompany me to the dance floor. You insisted upon making fools of ourselves, now we follow through.”

“I said I don’t want to,” McCoy hissed.

Janice Rand watched all of this with interest. “Is he, suddenly bashful, Mr. Spock?”

“I believe so, Miss Rand.”

“Oh for Chrissake, Dr. McCoy! Get your ass out there!” Rand said.

McCoy finally allowed himself to be led by the hand, (yes Spock was holding his hand) to the dance floor. “Did Janice suddenly get a field promotion?”

“Quite possibly,” Spock said.  
  
*  
As it turned out Spock was a terrific dancer. And when he slid a hand around McCoy’s waist McCoy thought he might faint, but maybe that was because of all the Mint Julips and Whiskys he’d consumed.

Anyway, they got through that ordeal.

They danced the next few slow songs before going back to the table and sitting down, not talking to each other. McCoy picked up his glass.

“Was that fun, guys?” Janice asked.

Spock shrugged.

“You boys looked cute out there,” she replied.

“Hmph,” McCoy said.

Spock got himself another bowl of ice cream.

“You’re gonna turn into an ice-cream, Mr. Spock,” McCoy huffed.

*

The captain was about to wrap up their visit, as, while enjoyable, it had been an incredibly long evening.

“Why not stay the night, as our guests?” the queen offered. “We have comfortable accommodations in our Love Hotel.”

"Our what?" McCoy asked.

Jim coughed. “Uh, Your Majesty, uh...Love Hotel? Well, I don’t think—Well, sure, fine, that would be alright.”

McCoy grimaced, Spock whispered, “Captain”. Uhura and Rand and even the security guard, Mr. O’Neil, shifted uncomfortably. Love Hotel?

Yeah. Something about this place seemed off. McCoy just couldn’t put his finger on it.

The queen and a couple of her minions made a big show of escorting them to the Love Hotel. Showing them to their rooms. First was for the captain, then Uhura, then Rand, then Mr. O’Neil, then Spock and McCoy.

The queen and her minions were about to walk away, when McCoy cleared his throat. “Uh, Ma’am?”

“Yes?” the queen asked.

“You put us into a room together?” McCoy said.

“Yes of course, you will share,” the queen said. She pointed to Spock. “Lovers always room together in the Love Building. We would not wish to separate you both, we love love!.”

Spock coughed into his hand.

McCoy’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

“Lovers?” Kirk said. “These two, they’re not lovers.”

“No?” the queen said.

“Negative,” Spock said.

“What the…?” McCoy said.

“Oh, yes,” the queen said. “Dr. McCoy is not ready to—ah, I see. Keeping secrets.”

“Bones?” Jim asked.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about Jim. Maybe I should beam up to the ship, huh?”

“I will go back to the ship, you may take the accommodation, Doctor,” Spock said, stiffly. And McCoy didn’t blame him one bit.

“There’s gotta be some mistake,” the captain said. “Lovers!” he laughed. “Never. Yes, they did dance together tonight, but we do that on our planet, it’s just a social custom, means nothing, right Mr. Spock? Doctor?”

“Of course, Jim.”

“Absolutely, Captain.”

“See, Your Majesty?”

“Ah.” The queen stared at both Dr. McCoy and Spock. “So you don’t want to—”

“No, Ma’am.”

“You must be mistaken, Your Majesty,” Spock said.

“Hmm, if you say so.” The queen clapped her hands. “Ready an additional room, Our esteemed guest, Dr. McCoy does not wish to share with his lover!” She walked away.

Rand and Uhura snickered. McCoy wished he could die on the spot. Spock raised an eyebrow.

“She know something I don’t?” Jim hissed at McCoy.

_______________  
On to next chapter…


	3. Moonglow

Queen Tulip of Tulip was now out of earshot, or so they hoped. Standing in the hallway, the Enterprise landing party went into the ol' collective panic attack, speaking simultaneously: 

"Captain?" Yeoman Rand said.

"Sir?" Lieutenant Uhura said.

"Captain?" Mr. O'Neil, the burly security guard squeaked out. (The young man didn't seem so burly now, he looked as terrified as a little kitten.)

"Captain, I--" Spock stated, with fake calm.

"Jim!" McCoy said.

"Shut up, all of you!" Jim hissed. "Just...be quiet a minute, that's an order." They all went silent, as ordered. Jim craned his head down the hallway to make sure the queen and her minions were indeed out of earshot. "Okay. Lieutenant Uhura, Yeoman Rand, Mr. O'Neil, go to your assigned rooms for the night. Try to...relax. Get some sleep."

"Yes sir," the three said in unison and rather timidly went through their respective doors, shut them behind them.

"Jim," McCoy said again.

"Captain--"

"I told you to shut up, didn't I?" Jim hissed again. "You don't listen, do you, both of you."

Spock held up his hands as if to say: 'What the fuck do you want us to do?' But the first officer would never actually say something like that, not Spock, not ever. 

"Alright, let's go into...Bones' room and we'll talk, okay? Talk about it," Jim said. "Alright? We'll talk about it."

McCoy rested his hand on the doorknob. "I'm almost afraid to open this door, we don't know what's on the other side of it."

"Aw, where's your sense of adventure Bones?"

"I must have left it on the ship."

Spock smirked. 

Jim opened the door and they entered McCoy's room, first Jim, then Spock, then McCoy (he sure as hell wasn't going in first and he'd sobered up completely now).

"Holy shit," Jim and McCoy both breathed out. 

"Fascinating."

*

Jim had immediately darted into HIS assigned room, to see if his was decorated similarly. He had come back, disappointed. "That's not fair."

"Well, she said I was their esteemed guest, Jim."

"Why just you?"

"I dunno, Jim. Just lucky I guess."

"I wonder if Spock's room looks like this," Jim said.

"I do not wish to investigate at this time." 

"Maybe you two should share a room, after all," Jim said. 

"No thanks," McCoy said. 

*

So they had an impromptu 'staff meeting', or 'triumvirate meeting', if you will, on McCoy's 'love hotel room' bed. Jim, McCoy, and Spock (albeit reluctantly) sat perched on the edge of it.

"Oh my god, this bed," Jim said, laying back, then finally getting into the bed, rolling around on it, boots and all. "Goddamn it's comfortable. Like a cloud." 

"Hey Jim", McCoy said, "you're gonna get it all dirty and rumpled. Gonna muss it all up. Why don't we sit on the sofa over there by the window?"

"Hell no," Jim said. "This is the kind of bed you comm home about."

"I'm not telling my ma about this, she'd never let me hear the end of it," McCoy replied. 

"Mr. Spock? Try it, you'll love it."

"Negative, Captain. This bed is illogical." 

*

McCoy finally managed to drag the captain off of his bed. Now the damn thing had a captain sized wrinkle right square in the middle. Definately not regulation. Jim, Spock and McCoy now sat on the sofa by the window. 

"Hey, there's a brand new bottle of whiskey here, y'all want a glass?" McCoy said. 

Jim nodded. "Why not?"

"Mr. Spock?" McCoy asked. 

"Actually, I will have a small glass, thank you, Doctor."

"Oh, here we go, gonna have a drunk Vulcan on our hands," McCoy teased. Spock shot him a dirty look. 

"Why did they give you a bed in the shape of a giant heart?" Jim wondered. "That's what I'd like to know. With satiny red lips for pillows. It's completely obnoxious."

"But it is luxurious, isn't it, Jim?"

"Yeah. Hey, Bones, Spock, why did the queen mistake you for...lovers?"

McCoy glanced over at the Vulcan who was studying his glass of whiskey very intently. "I dunno, Jim."

"So, there's nothing going between you two?"

"Nothing at all. Why would there be?"

"You slow danced together, maybe that's how she got the idea."

"I danced with Uhura too, the queen didn't mistake she and I for lovers, not that I'd mind, anyway." McCoy threw Spock a look.

"Okay, then it's just a misunderstanding." 

"It has to be, Jim."

"Captain, this entire planet is rather...fantastic."

"It is spectacular, isn't it, Mr. Spock?" Jim replied.

"No, Captain, I mean, the planet itself is not logical, it should not exist in this way. The planet should not naturally appear so multicolored. The trees, the sky, the plant life--those colors we have seen would not occur in a natural setting."

"Well, surely they're based on different ecosystem than an Earth style world would be--"

"This planet features an Earth style ecosystem: Class M planet. Identical oxygen, nitrogen, carbon dioxide combination in the atmosphere. Their flora should also be identically colored to Earth's, at least the leaves and grass should be green. Chlorophyll, Captain. Obviously the plants utilize it, why are they not green? This planet is like nothing we have ever experienced before." 

"The entire planet almost looks like it's been spray painted," McCoy said. "Looks fake."

"What is 'spray painted'?" Spock asked. 

"Paint...applied with an aerosol. Banned on Earth, so you wouldn't see this type of thing there. But this place...the whole goddamn planet looks artificial, but the plants, trees are alive."

"What about animal life, insects?" Jim asked.

"Now that you mention it, Jim. No. I haven't seen any."

"Spock?"

"Negative."

"Could this planet be an illusion, Mr. Spock?"

"My tricorder indicates that this habitat is indeed real."

"Radiation?"

"Minimal."

"Bones?"

"The queen is humanoid, or even human, identical to us. The people...also are humanoid based on my tricorder readings."

"Hmmm, it's a mystery all right. Tomorrow, both of you, get some samples of the surrounding vegetation. Try to find some animal life or insectoids, arachnoids, or some reasonable facsimile thereof.""

"Yes, Captain."

"Understood, Jim."

"Now, another mystery that needs to be solved. How in the world did you learn to dance like that, Bones?"

*

He and Jim had gotten their asses up off of the sofa, he was trying to show the captain how to swing dance, as Spock watched.

"Now Jim, it's easy. Okay, I'm going to lead, you are going to follow. Alright? Now face forward with me." 

"I thought this was a partner dance?"

"It is, Jim. But I'm gonna show you how to do the steps. Now first I do what's called a 'ball change'. I put my foot back like this, see it?"

"Yeah, okay."

"I do a triple step to the left, I'm going to go, watch my feet: Step, slide together, step, alright, Jim? Then I go back the other way and do a ball change. Step together step, then step together step ball change."

"This isn't what you were doing before, what about all the twirling you were doing with Uhura?"

"That was jitterbug, more advanced stuff. This is the basic step, the slower West Coast Swing. You have to start with this."

"I want to do the twirly stuff."

McCoy sighed. "Alright Jim, let's practice the basic step first. So face forward with me, that's it. And you're going to do the same thing I'm doing, but to the right. That sound alright?"

"Sure. What about music?"

"Let's practice the step first. Alright, Jim. Step togther, step." 

The captain moved in exactly the same direction as McCoy. 

"No, Jim, you go the opposite way...from the direction I'm going. You go right."

"What? But with Uhura you went the same direction, I saw you. And what about this?" Jim kicked up his leg, like Uhura had.

"That's more advanced stuff, Jim, you have to start with this."

"Captain," Spock broke in. "It is a mirror. You mirror your partner's steps."

"Oh, like you know so much about Earth swing dancing, Spock," Jim snarled. 

"Jim, come on, are we doing this or not?"

"Yeah, okay, Bones. So what are we doing? Opposite. Okay, I gotcha." But Jim still couldn't get the dance step down pat. "Dance with me like you did with Uhura."

"Jim that's more...advanced. Uhura's a dancer, so am I. She and I could do that level of dancing."

Jim huffed. "Bones."

"Alright Jim. Okay. Now face me. I'm putting my hand here on your shoulder, you hold my hand like this up in the air. Alright. Now ball change, then step together step. No, you do the ball change with the opposite foot to me. Mirror my moves, dammit!"

"Captain, you must mirror the doctor. He starts with his left foot, you use your right."

"That's enough outta you!" Jim said to Spock. "Come on, Bones, twirl me around like you did, Uhura." 

"Alright Jim." McCoy showed Jim how to step, together, step, then twirl. "You see that? You mirror my moves and I'm gonna lift up my hand and twirl you around, alright?"

"Let's do it." But Jim still couldn't get the step correct. "I need some music, that would help me. Right?"

"I don't know if there is any, Jim, honestly." 

"There is an old fashioned Earth 20th century phonograph here," Spock pointed out. Sure enough there was, over on an antique style dresser in the distinctly art deco style room. 

"Might be just for decoration. See if it can still play music," Jim replied. 

"What is this?" Spock held up a record. 

"Those are vinyls!" McCoy said and he did't know why he was so goddamned happy about that. "Yeah, that will work. See the grooves cut in that black disk? Yeah, the needle goes into those grooves, and then sound comes out. You never heard of vinyl long play records, Spock? No. Alright." He walked over to the pile of records. "Let's see what they got here. Anything with an 8 count tempo." 

"You seem to know a lot about old Earth music, Bones."

"Well, yeah," McCoy said. "I used to collect records, till I had to get rid of everything I owned to move for residency." He found an 'Artie Shaw's Greatist Hits' album in the stack. "This'll work." He pulled the record out of the sleeve. "Look at that, pristine condition. Like it's never been played. You put it on the platter like this. Hit the 'on' switch." The platter rotated. Music. 'Begin the Beguine'. McCoy smiled. "Alright, Jim. Come on, there's the music. Do like I showed you." McCoy held out his arms. 

Jim tried his very best, it was obvious, but he really did have two left feet. 

"Start off with your right foot, Jim! No, your other right." He then tried to twirl the captain around, but it was just a big mess. "Oh, boy."

Jim didn't appear ready to give up just yet. He kept trying and trying. Which you couldn't fault him for. "Dammit." 

"Well, Jim," McCoy noted, "like you said, you're a starship captain not a Broadway Star."

The song ended. Spock set down his glass of whiskey, came up off of the sofa, strolled over. "Captain...Jim. See, you must mirror the doctor, like this." Spock did the step. 

"Well, I'll be damned," McCoy said. 

Jim walked over, maybe stormed over, picked up his whiskey glass, took a sip. "Spock, if you think you're so damned slick, YOU try it."

'Moonglow' was the next song. McCoy held out his hand. "Spock?" 

Spock took his hand, placed his hand on McCoy's shoulder, and they danced the simple West Coast Swing steps, to the godamned 'Moonglow' song by Artie Shaw. Except Spock was leading this time and somehow, McCoy was perfectly content to let him lead. Somebody had to be the leader and this was the first officer of the Enterprise, second in command to the captain. They danced like this the entire song. Like experts. Occasionaly Spock threw in something extra, and McCoy was able to match him, easily. He looked at Spock, challenge in his heart: 'Give it to me, you bastard'.

"Spock knows how to swing dance," Jim called out. "Am I in bizarro world? Where the hell have I been? Learn something new about my officers every day."

The song ended. McCoy wasn't about to quit yet. The next song was 'Summit Ridge Drive'. Spock started Jitterbugging with him. McCoy shook his head in disbelief, this bastard, but he followed the Vulcan's lead, but then McCoy threw something at the Vulcan, he shimmied himself under the first officer's legs. Spock wasn't expecting that. In fact when McCoy came back up, Spock grabbed his hands hard, to warn him for getting out of line. They used to ban this shit back in the old earth, 1930's. Teenagers doing this ranchy shit, and no wonder. It was like having sex, standing up. No wonder the Baptists didn't dance. 

"Holy crap," Jim called out. "You two."

The song ended. McCoy pointed at Spock. "You little shit, let's see if you can handle something faster, you smug son of a bitch."

The first officer raised an eyebrow. 

McCoy stalked over to the stack of records, he dug through them, determined. He found one. He held it up like it was a spoil of war. "You ready for this?"

Spock shrugged. 

McCoy put on Benny Goodman's 'Sing, Sing, Sing (With a Swing)'. Much faster tempo. They started dancing to it, again. Eventually Spock lifted McCoy by the hips, threw McCoy around like nobody's business. 

Then McCoy found himself straddling Spock's waist, as Spock was standing up. Suddenly Spock lost his grip on him, and dropped him. McCoy hit the ground with a grunt. "My apologies, Doctor." The Vulcan held out his hand, brought McCoy to his feet. McCoy froze in Spock's arms, looked Spock square in the eyes. He felt anger rise to the surface, felt himself grow hot, his eyes widened. He realized he was breathing heavily. They continued to pause as the music still went on around them. 

"What's the matter?" Jim asked. 

McCoy couldn't bring down his heart rate, felt like it had gone up to 170-200bpm. "I don't want to dance anymore. I'm too old for this shit." 

Spock released him. 

"I'm gonna go...sit down," McCoy said. 

"Here's another drink." Jim poured more whiskey into McCoy's glass, handed it over as McCoy plopped onto the sofa.

"Thanks."

"Captain, Doctor. I believe It is time I retire to my room. Goodnight." 

"Sure you don't want another drink, Mr. Spock?"

"No, thank you, Captain." Spock turned on his heel, then walked out, shutting the door behind him. 

McCoy leaned forward, taking deep breaths, trying to bring down his heart rate. 

As soon as Spock was gone, Jim touched McCoy's shoulder. "What the hell was that all about?"

"I don't know, Jim."

"No wonder the queen thinks you two are lovers."

"What, from dancing? That's nothing."

"That wasn't nothing. That was something."

"Don't know what in the hell you're talking about, Jim. Turn that music off, will ya?" Jim went over to the record player. McCoy heard the record scratch as Jim moved the needle arm off the disk.

"Not like that, dammit, what are you, some kinda idiot?!"

_____________________

On to next chapter...


	4. When Your Hair Falls Down, You Must be Leonard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his swanky hotel room, Bones gets wasted on Love Hotel whiskey, and hallucinates a beach love scene with Spock.

In McCoy's hotel room in Spock's absence, McCoy and Jim had a few more shots of that whisky on the rocks, take the edge off all of this craziness on this planet. 

"Strange brand, isn't it? Has a unique flavor."

"Huh, Jim? Oh yeah." McCoy took another sip. "Smooth though, smoothest whiskey I've ever had."

"Should ask the queen for a bottle of this to take back to this ship." 

McCoy walked over, picked up the bottle, read the label: "'Love Whiskey. A Drink for Lovers'. You should see this, Jim. Look all the hearts on it. Crazy."

"Gotta love the novelty bottle." Jim held out his glass. "Hit me up. Final shot. We're still on a mission y'know, we don't want to overdo it. You're a nightmare when you're wasted." 

"Don't you worry about me, Jim. I can handle my liquor," McCoy said. He opened up the bottle, poured Jim another helping of booze. He set the bottle down then went over to the bed, laid down. "Ahhhhhh." 

"Why don'cha take your boots off?" 

"Good idea." McCoy briefly sat up to unzip the leather (or rather the leatheresque) boots, then toed one than the other off, leaving his socks on, then deciding to take them off too. "That's better. These goddamned things kill my feet. Why can't Starfleet design some decent footwear?" 

Jim was busy looking at something, over by the bathroom. He snickered. "There's some slippers here for you. Want these on? They're red, satiny, very sexy." 

McCoy grimaced at that. "No thanks."

Jim came over to the bed. "Mind if I stay here with you tonight?"

McCoy sat up on his elbows. "You just love me for my bed," he shot back, then laid back down.

Jim flopped into the bed, like he was diving into an olympic pool. The damned thing was large enough for an army of synchronised swimmers. They both had enough room to sprawl out starfish style without touching. "Damn this bed is like a cloud," Jim said for the millionth time that evening.

"This whole hotel room...it's unbelievable." McCoy reached over, found a 'lips' pillow and threw it at Jim who caught it, studied it, then tossed it off the side. "Who in their right mind would stay in a room like this?"

"A honeymoon couple."

"Oh yeah," McCoy said. "Maybe that's all that was available last minute." 

"Maybe you and Spock were meant for this room." Jim looked over, waggled his eyebrows. "The queen did have you pegged as lovers." 

"Can you shut up about that, Jim? Honestly. I don't know why she'd make that mistake."

"Are you sure there's nothing going on between you two?"

McCoy sighed. "Why would you even ask me that, Jim? It's Spock we're talking about. Logical, unemotional Spock. You think he'd really have a relationship with anyone? Least of all me? Fuck no."

"He danced with you. I had no idea he could dance. He looked at you, while he was dancing like--"

"It's nothing, Jim. He's just enjoying himself for once, that's all. I've been telling him to relax." 

"Doctor's orders?"

"Exactly." McCoy chuckled. "Y'know what, Jim? You know what would make this room absolutely perfect? A jacuzzi." 

Jim sucked in his breath. "Oh my god, yeah."

Suddenly, as if on command, the recessed lighting in the far corner, lowered, turned on and begain beaming multicolored light. In that same far corner of the room, the floor opened up, revealing none other than a goddamned hot tub. It began filling up with water.

He and Jim jumped up, terrified for a moment. "What the hell?" they both yelled out till McCoy broke out into hysterical laughter, and relaxed back in the bed. 

It's alright, Jim," McCoy said. "The room's just controlled by voice commands." 

"My god, they're really laying it on thick." 

"Yeah, ain't that some shit." 

Suddenly, some type of sexy 'lets get it on' type music began playing (kinda cheesy, if you asked him). Steam rose up from the water in the hot tub, creating multicolored fog. They both watched the scene unfold in awe. 

"Holy hell," McCoy said. "Now things are really getting weird." 

"Maybe you should tell the computer: 'I want a big spread of food and drink and a sexy, naked prostitute laying ready, on this bed'," Jim said.

"I ain't sayin' that, Jim. Don't be ridiculous. Is that how you'd spend your honeymoon?"

Jim jumped out of the heart shaped bed, went over to investigate. "Looks good, Bones. Nice and inviting."

"Hell no, Jim. No way."

Jim looked up at the lights, that were pulsating to the stupid music. "I thought you were the hedonist aboard ship."

"Not anymore."

"I'm going in!" 

"Jim, no!"

But before McCoy could stop the captain, the man was already down to his underwear, and getting into the goddamned hot tub. "Wait, Jim, I don't think it's a good idea with all the whiskey we've had...Jim! We could die of alcohol poisoning! Jim!" 

"Too late, Bones! Ahhhhh." Jim laid back in the hot tup, closing his eyes. "Heaven, just heaven. Come on, Bones, live a little!" 

"I already tried to live a little and look what that got me!"

"What?" Jim yelled out. "What are you talking about?" 

"Nothing, I'm not going in there." 

"Come on, Bones." 

McCoy got out of bed, stomped over to where the empty water glasses were. "Fine. If you and I get too inhebriated, get alcohol poisioning and die, I'm not responsible. Hot tubs and booze don't mix." He filled up two glasses with water, set them down, stripped off his uniform down to his underwear, threw it onto his bed, picked up the water glasses, stalked over to the hot tub. He handed a glass to the captain. "Here!"

"Oh Bones, it isn't even that hot."

"Drink this fucking water, dammit!"

"Alright, alright, Bones." Jim took the water glass, drank a couple sips. "Okay?" 

McCoy scowled, set down his own water glass on the edge of the jacuzzi, and got in. Goddamn it felt so good and hot and bubbly. This hot tub was dangerous in their intoxicated states, but whatever, he'd deal with any possible dehydration that came up between the both of 'em. He could spy his medical kit on the end table next to the sofa. 

However, as he'd feared, the hot tub had a huge detrimental effect, at least on himself, no matter how much fun he was having. He felt himself getting drunker and drunker and drunker by the minute. He was woozy. Lightheaded. He took another sip of water, realized he'd drank the entire thing and to refill it he'd have to get out of the tub. The Mint Julips during that banquet, plus the whiskey combined with the extreme heat of this hot tub was catching up with him. He could still speak relatively coherently, but he was looser lipped, let's just say that. Jim kept remarking about how it was odd that the queen thought he and Spock were lovers. Like he was pressing for information. Oh shit, he was in trouble.

Finally Jim said, "You and Spock had barely been speaking on the Enterprise, did you two really get into a fight about something that terrible?"

And he found himself telling Jim everything, spilling his guts, unloading his guilt. This booze was acting like a goddamned truth serum. "To be completely honest, Spock and I...did something we shouldn't have...I shouldn't have done." 

"Oh?"

"Off the record, Jim?"

"Alright." 

And so he told the captain what had happened. Everything. Jim listened, didn't say a word, but had his mouth partly open in disbelief. 

And then McCoy found himself crying, and then he began sobbing. Oh shit. 

Jim inched over, put an arm around him. "Ohhhh, Bones, don't cry, it's okay."

"Goddammit Jim, I'm going to lose my medical liscence over this, I know it. I'm finished. I'll be practicing on a Klingon planet if I'm not in a Starfleet prison."

"No, no, no. That's not going to happen. It was just an honest mistake."

"I was just trying to help him, Jim. Honest."

"I know, I know. I'm sure this kind of thing happens all the time."

"No it doesn't."

"The first captain of the Enterprise was married to the CMO! You and Spock aren't fraternizing. It's allowed under Starfleet regulations."

"Nope, nope, nope, Jim. Doctor patient...relationship...I violated that," McCoy said between sobs. "This is a... serious transgression."

"Nobody will find out, Bones. It's not like you two were actually rolling around in bed together, you were just helping him get a semen sample. Like a sex therapist would."

"I'm a doctor, not a sex therapist! I can't have relationships with..." (sob) "...anybody on board the ship, most of you are my patients! It's a very lonely existance. God, I'm so fucking lonely, Jim. Do you have any idea how that feels?"

"Yes, Bones." Jim kept patting him. "You're in love with Spock. it's okay. It's okay."

"No I'm not. It's just something that happened." 

"Alright, if you say so." 

"I told you I'm not in love with him! Fuck you, Jim. Fuck you!" McCoy pulled away from the captain, tried to get out of the hot tub on his own, but by now he was so drunk, he couldn't escape. He kept losing his balance and slipping back into the water. "Goddammit!"

"Oh hey, where you going, Bones?" 

"It's too fucking hot in here and I'm going to go take a fucking piss!" McCoy seethed.

"Oh Jesus, here we go," Jim complained. 

"You...leavemethe... fuck alone... you asshole!" McCoy yelled out. "Fuck you!" 

But he couldn't get his drunk ass out of the water. His underwear was now so waterlogged that they were slipping down, making him indecent, flashing the captain. Jim had to get out of the tub, help him over to the fucking bathroom, hold onto his shoulder while he attempted to piss straight into the toilet without passing out, then put a towel around his waist. "You're right, Bones, as usual. We shouldn't have went in the jacuzzi. Now you're out of control." 

"Wha....Jim? What?" 

"Come on, Bones, I'm taking you over to the bed. Come on, I got you." 

"What are you doing?"

"Putting you to bed. So you can sleep this shit off."

"Where's Spock? I want him to take me to bed." 

"He can't. Spock's in his room, asleep, Bones, remember?" Together, slowly, Jim (or at least he hoped it was), helped him back to the heart shaped bed, the oasis in the sand that was this godforsaken hotel room. They reached the bed, and Jim carefully laid him down. "Ahhh, your sopping wet underwear's gonna make this bed all wet, but that cant be helped, I'm not dealing with a naked drunk friend. Keep them on."

McCoy went ahead, or misunderstood the command and pulled off the towel along with his own underwear. He threw them onto the bed on top the covers and closed his eyes.

"Ah, now you're naked. Great," Jim bitched. "I wasn't expecting to see this, when we beamed down earlier. Wonderful." Jim pulled the covers over him. McCoy pushed them off. "No, no, no. don't. Keep that on, Bones."

McCoy turned over to prone position. "No. Hot."

"Okay, okay, Bones, lay on your stomach. I'd never thought I'd ever say this but I'd rather see your bare ass than your dick. You want some water?"

"Yeah...thirsty."

"Okay, you stay here. I'll get you some."

Jim went away, presumably to get that water. McCoy sat up. Where in the hell was Spock? 

"Where you going, Bones?" Jim came back, set the glass of water on the nightstand.

"Spock. Where is he? He might be in trouble. I have... to help... him."

"Bones, here drink this." Jim pressed the glass into McCoy's palm. McCoy could barely sip it without spilling the liquid all over him. "Alright, here." Jim took the glass, set it down. "Just relax, lay down, go to sleep, everybody's safe."

"'Kay," McCoy murmured. "Daddy."

Jim chuckled awkwardly. "Oh, don't call me that." McCoy felt Jim push him to lay down, then put the covers over him. McCoy closed his eyes. 

When he opened his eyes, he was in uniform. He was alone. 

On the far side of the hotel room was a large sliding glass door, with no curtains, looking out onto a rainbow beach. It featured a gorgeous view of the ocean. He could hear the waves breaking. There was a balcony with steps that lead down to the beach. Millions of stars were suspended in he dark sky overhead. Two bright moons illuminated the scene. Damn, this was indeed the prettiest planet ever. He wished he could go out there for a stroll, but he didn’t dare go alone. Better not, might not be safe, but it looked so romantic.

Things weren't right, however. He felt on edge.

On the dresser opposite, he spied a full bottle of whiskey and two lowball glasses. Just what he needed right now. He got out of bed, poured himself a generous portion. Took a sip. So smooth.

“Telepathy,” he muttered. “That’s it. That’s what it is.”

These Tulipians had to be reading his mind. They entertained his every whim it seemed. It was kinda like that shore leave planet only different, a bit more mysterious and it only seemed to be his thoughts affected. So far these natives hadn’t done anything negative against the landing party.  
It almost seemed like they only wanted to enhance HIS visit. Why? Hopefully they weren’t planning on kidnapping him and keeping him here. They did have their own planet side physicians, they didn't need him, he hoped. He’d report it to Jim in the morning.

Why did the queen mistake him and Spock for lovers?

“That’s because you won’t stop thinking about him, you goddammed dope,” he whispered to himself. They WERE reading his mind. He had to protect himself. Keep the landing party safe. Keep his thoughts under control. Keep his mind a blank. That’s it. Blast his weak mental capabilities. Well he was a doctor, not a computer. He was a human being with feelings, desires.

What he wouldn’t do, for Spock to knock on his door, right now, and then roll around with him on this heart bed. But even if the Vulcan did come over, they couldn’t do anything about it. Yeah, you fucking Tulipian assholes reading his mind right now. He and Spock couldn’t do a damned thing about any attraction between them. There was no way.

‘You know what this whiskey needs? Some ice’, he thought. Didn’t all hotels have an ice machine in the corridor or somethin’?

He left his room, walked past Spock’s door, couldn’t help that his eyes darted over and he felt longing in his heart. Wanted Spock to open that door, but he didn't dare knock, didn't want to disturb the Vulcan.

He got further down the hall, no ice machine. What the hell?

“Something I can fetch for you, Dr. McCoy?” 

McCoy nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around. There was a…a guy in a tuxedo. Black tails, white tie, standing there in front of him in the hallway. McCoy froze.  


“Forgive me for frightening you. I am the concierge.” The guy had an English accent which made him seem all the more sinister, no reason for that, besides the fact that most movie villains had an English accent.

“Oh, you're the concierge,” McCoy breathed. “I see.” McCoy backed away.

“Anything I can do to enhance your stay with us, Dr. McCoy?”

“Nope, thanks. I was just…uh….” McCoy backed away even further. “Just….going back to my room.”

“You were looking for ice?” Somehow the concierge suddenly had a silver cart. He held out an ice bucket. “I have filled it for you, Sir.”

McCoy took it from him. “Thanks. I’ll just be getting back to my room.”

“Would you like some chocolate cake?”

“Some what?”

“Chocolate cake goes perfect with brandy.” The concierge reached over to the cart, held out a silver platter with a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. “Here, two slices, for you and your guest.”

“I don’t have any…guests in my….my room,” McCoy said. “I don’t really need any cake, thanks.”

“It’s delicious. Melts in your mouth. A perfect compliment to the brandy. If I may say so, Sir. Freshly baked.”

McCoy sighed. “Fine. Thanks.” He took the platter with the cake. He put the ice bucket under his arm.

“Something for the weekend, Sir?”

“What?”

The concierge smiled and handed McCoy a rainbow colored bag. “For you, Sir. Necessary supplies.”

“Supplies?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Like, uh…toiletries?” McCoy said.

“Something like that, Sir.”

“Well, uh…thanks. I’ll uh…just be getting back.”

“Shall I assist you to your room?”

“No, no, no, I got it.”

“Very well, Sir. Anything else I can do for you?”

“No. Here, wait a sec.” McCoy dug into his pocket and pulled out his credit card. “Uh. Give yourself fifty credits for a tip.”

The concierge pulled out his reader, tapped it to McCoy’s card. “Thank you, Sir. Most generous.”

McCoy stuffed his card back into his pocket. "Well, uh, you're welcome."

He darted back to his room. He shut the door behind him and made sure it locked. His heart pounded for a few moments. He leaned back against the door, until he could calm down.

Eventually he set the tray with the cake on the nightstand. Set down the ice bucket. He peeked inside the rainbow bag, expecting to find a toothbrush and deodorant. He audibly groaned when he discovered it contained several condoms and a bottle of sexual lubricant. He pitched it against the wall. It slid down and lay on the floor.

“I don’t need any fucking help in that department,” he said out loud. “You hear that Tulipians? Stay out of my fucking love life. I do just fine on my own. Goddamn it, now I’m talking to my fucking self.” When they got back to the Enterprise he knew for damned sure the very first post planetary physical was gonna be on him. A full psych work up. The works.

He put the ice cubes he'd just gotten into the brandy glass then took another sip. Perfect. Brandy on the rocks. He'll drink himself into oblivion and then pass out again on the heart bed. Alone. He stood in silence and finished the drink. Then took a bite of the chocolate cake. Delightful, brandy and cake. Before he knew it, he'd eaten the entire slice.

' _ **Knock, knock, knock **',****_ ** **.****

********

****

He jumped. Fuck. Who in the fuck what it? The goddamned creepy concierge? It was Spock. No it wasn't. That was stupid. Spock wouldn’t come to his room. Spock was in his own room asleep, most likely. Ya know what, he wasn’t gonna answer the door.

' _Knock, knock, knock._ ' 

Whoever it was was insistent. Maybe it was Jim. Yeah, that’s who it was. It wasn’t Spock. He was imagining things. Maybe it was a medical emergency. Yeah. That’s what it was. 

He approached the door like it was some kind of monster. “Who is it?” he asked in a meek little voice.

“Spock.”

He closed his eyes at that voice. Oh dear god, it was the first officer. He knew it would be the first officer. He knew it. His heart threatened to rip itself out of his chest, his heart rate had skyrocketed so dramatically. He gulped, then opened the door. It was indeed the first officer standing in the doorway. “What the hell do you want?” McCoy snapped. He hadn’t wanted to, felt bad, because Spock had reacted to his hostility.

“Good evening, Doctor.”

McCoy motioned for Spock to come in. He shut the door behind the first officer. "What’s going on?”

“Pardon?”

McCoy bit his lip. “Something wrong?”

“Yes.”

“You feel it, too?” McCoy breathed. “It’s crazy isn’t it.”

“Feel what?”

McCoy stared a moment. “Nothing. What do you want?”

“Is your shower operational?”

“My what?” McCoy blinked at the question, then shrugged. “Well, hell, I dunno. I haven’t bothered checking. Was gonna bathe in the morning. Why?”

Spock stared a moment, then for unknown reasons, reached over and brushed McCoy’s bangs. “You are asleep.”

“What? No." McCoy blushed. “My hair falls down sometimes, when it’s been a long day.”

“Ah.” Spock nodded. “My shower is not functioning. No water will come forth. May I use yours?”

“It’s not working?” McCoy snapped his fingers. “Of course. It’s been sabotaged.”

“I highly doubt that, Doctor.”

“You do? Well, that’s uh….fine, use mine. Knock yourself out.”

“Thank you.” Spock began to quickly divest himself of his uniform until he was completely naked. McCoy coughed at the sight. “Is everything alright, Doctor?”

“No. Yeah. I dunno.”

“I am not offending you, am I?”

“Uh no, why would you…?”

“I surmised since you have already seen me nude, countless times, in varying situations…” (McCoy blushed even harder at that) “…you would not mind if I disrobed in your presence, would you, Dr. McCoy. Unless you do mind,” Spock said.

“Oh,” McCoy said. “No, I don’t mind at all. I’m uh…be my guest. There’s nice warm fluffy towels on the rail, in there.” McCoy tried not to stare, but succumbed to taking a few peeks at the Vulcan’s physique when Spock didn’t notice. “Look, Spock, uh, are you feeling alright?”

“I am fine. Why, Doctor?”

“This place is weird. Creeping me the fuck out. Don’t you think it’s strange that everything I want to happen here. Happens? They’re reading my thoughts.”

“You wanted me to come to your room, Dr. McCoy?”

Yes he did. “What? No!”

“Then the notion that they are reading your thoughts is implausible.”

“Oh yeah? Well, what about them serving foods from back home and the dancing and the booze and everything being my favorite, and this crazy hotel and them thinking incorrect things about us, and you—” McCoy cut himself off. “I don’t like it.”

Spock was now standing so close and McCoy made a point of looking only at Spock’s face, his mouth, not quite meeting his eyes. “If that is the case, Doctor,” Spock said, “then I recommend that you are careful of what you think about.”

“I’m trying.”

“Very well.” Spock glanced around. “Hmmmm.”

“What?”

“My room is much more austere than this.”

“You mean, you don’t have this crazy heart shaped bed and hot red satiny lips for pillows?”

“I do not.”

McCoy put his hands to his face. “Why are they torturing me?”

Spock grasped his wrist, then held his hand for a moment before dropping it. “I do not know. The Tulipians do not appear to be hostile.”

“Yeah, that’s true. But you never know with these folks. I’ll just have to keep my thoughts pure and sweet and shallow and get through the night, maybe we can get out of here tomorrow and everything will be fine.”

“Do you normally have impure thoughts?”

Yes. Yes he did. Especially now. "No. Never."

“Perhaps we should go to bed.” Coming from a naked Vulcan in front of him, that just sounded pornographic to McCoy ears. God yes, I want to roll around on this bed with Spock.

“Hey Spock. Are you sure you're really the real deal?" McCoy asked. "You seem so...different." 

"Touch me. I am real," Spock commanded. "Go on, you may. Anywhere you like." 

McCoy opened his eyes, reached out. He felt something, a body, wearing nothing but underwear, lying in bed with him. "Who are you?!" he slurred out to whoever was in bed next to him. It wasn't Spock. Spock had disappeared. 

"Bones, if you don't stop groping me, I'm leaving."

Jim's voice. What the fuck was he doing here? "Spock. Where's Spock? What'd you do with him? Bring him back!"

Eventually, he closed his eyes again and opened them to hear Jim putting his uniform back on, then flipping open his communicator: "Spock? I'm sorry to bother you so late." Jim whispered. "Yeah, can you come over here and stay with McCoy? I really need to get some sleep. He's very ill."

McCoy closed his eyes again. 

He opened them to find he was again fully dressed in his uniform, the first officer again, naked, standing in front of him. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I thought something happened to you!"

"Thank you for letting me use your shower." Spock's hair was wet and uncharacteristally messy, his olive toned skin glistening.

"Goddamn you look so fucking hot," McCoy whispered. "I wish I could--" He gulped. He turned away from the Vulcan, went over to the window. "Let's go to the beach."

"Right now?"

"Why not? It’s safer than me going out alone. I need to get rid of some of this nervous energy, anyhow.” McCoy tore off his own uniform. Left it lay where it landed. "Let's go."

"Nude, like this? Why, Doctor, that is rather daring."

"The name's Leonard. I like living dangerously."

"I know your name."

"Well then, use it."

They exited through the sliding glass door, onto the multicolored sand.

It was warm out on the rainbow beach. The warmth had to be for Spock’s benefit, McCoy mused, couldn’t have him out on a cold beach, wouldn’t be comfortable. They wanted to make sure he and Spock stayed awhile. The Tulipians had to be behind the scenes, engineering all of this. And here he and Spock were, playing right along. But, he was getting tired of fighting these Tulipians who were obviously engineering this whole thing. And well, as long as he was here on this crazy planet, he might as well enjoy himself.

He grabbed Spock's hand. Spock didn't let go. They didn’t really say much as they walked along the beach. They were intent on doing something.

They got close to the water’s edge, without actually touching it. It sparkled in the double moonlight. Suddenly the water reached their toes. Nice and warm like a hot tub, or maybe even the Gulf of Mexico, or Urithada hot springs on Zenu IV or--

“Spock” McCoy whispered, because the silence out on the beach with nobody else around was crushing and he was afraid to spoil it. “Wanna play in the water?”

Spock shrugged. “Why not?”

McCoy was aware that Spock was staring at his body, he hoped the Vulcan liked what he saw. “This is called skinny dipping on Earth. What do they call it on Vulcan?”

“We do not have a special term for swimming while unclothed. Vulcans always swim in the nude.”

McCoy smiled. “Last one in’s a rotten egg.”

“A what?”

McCoy had already darted off and Spock was hot on his heels. McCoy laughed as he ran into the warm water, splashing everywhere. He got in up to his waist. Spock next to him. A wave broke and crashed over the both of them. They now stood, drenched and sputtering.

“Leonard, are you alright?” Spock asked.

McCoy laughed, wiping his face. “Never better.”

They got in deeper to their shoulders. “I hope there’s no sharks or any deadly sea creatures in here,” McCoy said. “If something happened, Jim would have our heads on a platter.”

“Rainbow colored sharks,” Spock noted.

“Where?” McCoy panicked, lifting up his feet.

“No, I meant that, if they have sharks, I wonder if they are also rainbow colored.”

McCoy laughed, splashed Spock. This time the Vulcan splashed him back.

“You bastard,” McCoy said with glee. He held onto Spock for stability, then turned and held onto Spock. 

McCoy opened his eyes. He bolted upright in bed. He needed to pee or he was going to piss the bed. He tried to get out of bed. Suddenly he felt strong arms holding him down. "Doctor, what are you doing?"

"Pee." 

"You need to use the bathroom?"

"Yeah."

"I will assist you."

"You're gonna help me pee... Spock?" McCoy slurred out. "Aw...Baby... I didn't know you had it in you." 

He didn't know how, but now all of a sudden, he was in bathroom, still naked as the day he was born, and now sitting on the toilet, albeit rocking back and forth before Spock steadied him. "Is it safe?" McCoy asked. 

"Yes, go ahead," Spock told him. After he finished, he was now walking back, with Spock's help, to the bed. He suddenly got out of Spock's grasp and wandered over by the window. "No, Doctor, do not do that."

"Doctor, doctor, give me the news, I have a bad case of loving you!" McCoy sang out. He heard an exasperated sigh from the Vulcan behind him. 

"Back to bed."

McCoy turned around, rather unsteadily. He slid his arms around the first officer. He leaned in, sniffed the first officer's scent. "Anyone ever tell you how good you smell, Baby?" 

"Negative. Come please, to bed."

McCoy felt an arm around his waist. Oh, Spock wanted to dance. McCoy began to dance, lost his balance, fell onto the carpet, Spock tumbled down with him. "Doctor."

McCoy reached over, caressed Spock's hair, damn it was so soft: "Snoop Doggy, dogg... doggy dogg," he sang." He heard another exasperated sigh from the first officer. "Spock...do you know the conversion factor from fahrenheit to celsius?"

"Suppose you tell me, Doctor," Spock said. 

"Don't you know, Baby? If you're really Spock, tell me."

"Deduct the value by 32, multiply by five, divide by nine," Spock told him. "Does that answer your question? Doctor. Bed. Please assist me in walking you over, unless you wish me to carry you."

"Oh, you fucking tease, Baby." McCoy closed his eyes.

Suddenly he was back in the water. His arms around Spock, Spock's around his waist. He had his face next to the Vulcan's. 

Spock's hair was completely slicked back and made him look so unlike himself and adorable that McCoy couldn’t stand it. They made their way back to the beach. They were laying on the the sand now. Holding hands. McCoy lay back with an “ahhhhh. This is the most fun I’ve had in years. Didn’t know you were so playful.”

“Rarely.”

McCoy turned on his side, towards Spock. “You should do it more often, I like it, a lot.”

Spock blushed a deep green on his ears and cheeks.

“Aboard the Enterprise we’re always….” McCoy reached out to touch Spock’s ear, “….arguing and debating and bickering and….”

“Hmmm.”

“Now we’re…naked on a beach together in this double moonlight—”

“Zeus and Aphrodite, the twin moons,” Spock said.

“That’s right. The twin moons of Tulip II.” McCoy let his finger trail down to Spock’s face. “I had a cat named Tulip, back in med school.”

“Indeed?”

“Yeah. Found her in one of the labs as a kitten. She was a devil, attacking everybody. Little bitty thing. Tuxedo cat. Black and white. Snuggled with me every night, between my legs. Letting me know I was….loved, I guess."

“I cannot picture you cuddling with a cat between your legs," Spock said.

“Why not? I’m a cuddly kind of guy.”

“Not when you’re giving physicals.”

“Well that’s Dr. McCoy for you. I’m just… _Leonard_ right now this second.”

Spock reached out, touched McCoy’s bangs that lay across his eyes. “When your hair falls down, you must be _Leonard_.”

“Yeah, Dr. McCoy’s had enough by then. Dr. McCoy always has sprayed, combed hair, all neat and crisp. Kinda like First Officer Spock.”

Spock shook his head, smirked. "Usually." That was a Spock laugh. McCoy liked making him laugh.

He reached out touched Spock's chin, tilted it towards him, met the Vulcan's mouth. Oh my god, they were.... _they were kissing_! He and Spock. Spock's lips were so soft. He felt electric. He couldn't believe Spock was actually letting him. Gently at first, beautiful tender pecks on the lips. Damn Spock was an excellent kisser. He went for Spock's ear. "Open your mouth, let me in, baby." He went back to kissing Spock, and Spock let his tongue in. His cock sprang into life. They went down onto the sand. Rolled around. McCoy on top of him, then Spock on top of him, the Vulcan's weight pushing down into the sand.

He felt Spock's hard dick jutting into his thigh. Got he wanted him so fucking bad. Wanted to thrust his cock right into that tight little ass. Wanted to take Spock's cock into his mouth.

McCoy opened his eyes, rolled over in bed, feeling around him, felt a body next to him, clad in uniform. The body felt firm, the hips tiny, firm belly, muscular legs. Whoever it was didn't halt his exploring. Comforted by that, he closed his eyes again. 

He was back on the beach and he and Spock were frantically kissing, then grinding against each other furiously before McCoy put things to a halt. "Spock," he finally panted. "Let's go back into the water."

They both got to their feet. Went into the sea up to their waists. "What would you like to do?" Spock asked. 

McCoy had his back to Spock, leaned back, grabbed the back of Spock's neck, kissed him again, then licked his way to Spock's ear. "I don't know, Don't have any condoms. I left them in my room. Let's touch each other, please baby."

Spock's hand was traveling down, down. "You want me to touch you? Right here? What if someone sees us?"

"I want them to see us. Let em watch. Turns me on."

"Very well." McCoy turned in Spock's arms. McCoy held onto Spock's ass as Spock kept stroking him, with an expert touch. "Oh shit, oh no, I'm going to cum, Spock." That didn't fucking take long.

McCoy, in bed, opened his eyes and groaned out: "Uhhhhh, oh god."

"Doctor?" he heard Spock's voice from next to him on the bed. "Are you alright?"

____________  
on to the next chapter


	5. Mr. Kelley, Are You Ready?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In McCoy's 'honeymoon suite' in the Love Hotel, continuing on from last chapter, Spock now takes care of a drunken/ill McCoy, meanwhile McCoy hallucinates again, that he's a famous actor in a film noir movie. Some hurt/comfort within. Some references to old films, current/classic rock, and a music video by Father John Misty.
> 
> Warning: Description of a suicide in a dream sequence. Also some cigarette smoking in a dream sequence. (don't smoke).
> 
> and yes there is sex.

Doctor," Spock said again. "Are you quite alright?"

McCoy stared up at the mirrored ceiling over the heart shaped bed-- _there was a mirror?_ What the hell was this place? But right now his mind accepted it as normal. "Huh?"

"Do you know your name?"

Of course he did. "Yeah."

"What is it?"

"It's uh....uh..." He couldn't remember, why couldn't he remember? Dear god, what the fuck was his NAME?

"Do you know where you are?"

McCoy looked around, the room spun then tilted as he did so, remind him never to take a voyage on the Titanic ever again. "No. Where the hell am I?" What was happening?

Spock suddenly appeared on McCoy's side of the bed. "You are on Tulip II. Do you remember?"

Why was he fucking asking? "Tulip II. Oh...yeah. Sure."

"You are in your hotel room. Dr. McCoy, you are safe but you have been ill. Is there something in your medikit I can give you?"

"I don't know."

"Doctor, help me to help you. Is there a drug in your medikit I can give you to alleviate your symptoms?"

"Jim. What happened to Jim?"

"The captain went back to his room. I surmise he is also unwell from the whiskey. I will check on him shortly." 

Spock had some kind of a glob of something white, yet translucent, splattered across the front of his uniform. "What...is that?" McCoy pointed weakly. 

"What is what?" Spock looked down, then must have realized what it was. "It is nothing." Spock quickly removed his tunic, folded it up and set it on the bedside table.

"I had... a strange dream," McCoy said. "I was on the--"

"You are very ill. Would you like some water?"

"Yeah." 

"I will be back." Spock took the empty glass, disappeared someplace. McCoy's stomach hurt. He felt the nausea roil up within him. He groaned.

Spock came back with the water. But by the time he'd returned, McCoy had heaved and vomited all over himself and the bed. "Oh...shit....goddammit...." McCoy whimpered, puked some more, all of his dinner from the evening. Some on the carpet, a little more on the bed. "Oh...no...I...."

"Do not be alarmed. It is alright," Spock said. McCoy felt himself being scooped up and carried to the bathroom. The movement made him feel even more nauseous and he heaved again. Spock knelt McCoy down in front of the toilet so he could empty out the rest of his stomach contents the way it had come in.

After a while, McCoy stopped, but remained there, kneeling, then felt himself get fuzzy, the bathroom dimmed, again the Titanic pitched and rolled. He slid onto the cold, white stark tile floor.

"Doctor, no. Not there." McCoy came to and felt Spock's strong arms pull him to a sitting position. "Try to stand up." Spock tapped or slapped his face, McCoy felt the sting, he grimaced again.

"Stop....stop," McCoy said.

"Come Doctor, you cannot lay on the floor all night. Get up."

"Aluminum."

"Aluminum? What about it? Was the substance in your drink? Do you believe the liquor was spiked?" Goddamn, Spock sounded frantic, what was with this Vulcan. Never heard him sound like this before.

"No...the symbol... it's uh...'Al'."

"What are you attempting to say, Doctor--are you telling me the symbol for aluminum? Is that what you are saying?" Spock now sounded incredulous.

"Antimony...Sb," McCoy muttered.

"Doctor, please try to stand up."

But his legs felt like cooked spaghetti, he couldn't. "Argon...'Ar'," McCoy said.

Spock hauled him up to his feet. "I had not realized humans in an incapacitated state were so heavy." The Vulcan plopped him down onto the toilet seat. McCoy felt the cold under his ass. He leaned over. 

"Doctor." Spock rubbed his shoulder. "Remain upright."

McCoy tilted his head down. "Arsenic...'As'." 

Spock was about to turn on the shower but spun around. "Arsenic? Was that in the drink you consumed? Are you trying to tell me that?"

"No...the symbol for the elements. We have to know this."

"What for?"

"Exam." 

"What exam? Doctor--"

"Gen. Chem."

"General Chemistry?" Spock said. "Doctor, do you know where you are?"

"Class is starting in five minutes, I'm going to be late." 

"Doctor. You are not on Earth. You are--" Spock held onto McCoy who began tipping over again. He righted him. Again McCoy felt the room pitch and roll. "I have never known you to behave like this when inebriated. The only time you were utterly irrational, even for you, was when you had accidentally shot yourself with..." Spock trailed off. "Doctor, wait here. Do not attempt to get up. Do you hear me? Wait here. Do not move."

"Barium...Ba...bismuth...Bi, bromine...Br, cadmium Cd," McCoy said.

Spock darted out of the bathroom, suddenly dissappearing. Who knew where he went. Maybe he was gone forever.

McCoy felt a tear roll down his cheek. He had to know this stuff, he couldn't remember it all: "Calcium...Ca, Carbon...C...chlorine Cl, Chromium Cr, Cobalt...Co." He began shrieking out the names of the elements. Goddammit, he couldn't remember them, he had to know them in five minutes. "Copper...Cu, Fluorine...F, Gold....Au, Helium...He, Hydrogen...H, Lead...Pb, Lithium...Li, Magnesium...Mg, Maganese....Mn! Mercury...Hg!, Neon...Ne! Nickel...Ni, Nitrogen...N!"

Spock was suddenly by his side, with the type II medical scanner, McCoy heard it whirling. "Not drugged," Spock said. "At least by anything I can identify, and I do not possess your vast medical knowledge. According to the scanner, you appear to be suffering from simple alcohol intoxication. I do not understand, how whiskey could affect your behavior in this bizarre way. This is not logical. Doctor, does anything hurt? Do you have any upper abdominal distention?"

"My stomach hurts, distention, upper abdominal...." McCoy breathed out. 

"From a scale of one to ten, Doctor. How much discomfort are you feeling?"

"A hundred."

Spock sighed. "Doctor."

McCoy yelled out: "Oxygen... O! Phosphorus...P! Platinum...Pt!" He began to sob: "Potassium....K, Radium...Ra, Silicon...Si, Silver...Ag, Sodium...Na! Strontium....Sr, Sulfur....S! Tin...Sn! Titanium...Ti! Tungsten...W! Uranium...U, Zinc Zn! Oh god, I'm never going to remember all of these. God dammit."

Spock grabbed onto his hands, steadied him again. "You got all the symbols correct. Well done. I cannot believe that you are not drugged. You are acting quite--" 

McCoy collapsed in tears. "Never... never going to be a doctor. I might as well give up now. Goddammit, fuck Gen Chem."

"You are a doctor, do not be concerned. Please do not cry. You must have done well in your pre-med courses, since you successfully went on to medical school and beyond. Wait there." Spock set the medical scanner on the sink. He went over to the shower, turned it on. Spock appeared to mentally debate for a moment, then stripped the rest of his uniform off, down to nothing. He grabbed McCoy from off the toilet, got into the shower with him, set McCoy on his feet in front of him, held onto his shoulders.

"What are you....what are you doing?" McCoy said, in a brief lucid moment.

"Cleaning you up. You have vomit everywhere," Spock told him. "You will not remember any of this in the morning."

Spock got a helping of shampoo from the wall dispenser and bathed McCoy: Washed his hair, his body, everything. Spock had done something like this before, a year ago, when they were working in the lab together and there was an explosion. McCoy had gotten the brunt of it. Spock had grabbed him, stripped both their uniforms off, and threw the both of them into the lab shower. It had saved McCoy's life. 

McCoy tilted his head forward as Spock washed his hair. He then leaned back onto Spock's shoulder. Then suddenly flipped around, slid his hands around Spock's waist. Lay his head on Spock's shoulder. Hugged him.

Spock seemed to let this go on for a few moments before reached behind him, grabbing hold McCoy's hands, moved them away. "You do not know what you are doing. I believe the shower is finished." McCoy felt Spock propel him out of the shower stall. Spock sat McCoy on the toilet again, turned off the water, put a large fluffy towel over his head and commenced drying him off.

Eventually, when McCoy was toweled off enough to Spock's apparent satisfaction, Spock put his own uniform back on, sans the soiled blue tunic that was still on the bedside table. The first officer propelled McCoy out of the bathroom and over to the sofa, helped McCoy lay down on his back. McCoy felt the Vulcan lay a warm blanket on his body. Where'd he get that from? The Vulcan then sat next to McCoy's feet. "Are you still nauseous?"

"Yeah."

Spock reached under the blanket, pulled out a foot. "Relax, Doctor." The Vulcan pressed down hard on the bottom of McCoy's foot with his thumb and finger. "The captain taught me this."

"Mmmm." McCoy's eyes were heavy, Spock performing reflexology was indeed damned relaxing.

Spock eventually stopped what he was doing, McCoy kinda wished he'd continue but didn't ask him to. "Feeling better?" Spock had that smug tone, like he wanted a fucking gold star for his efforts. 

"Mmmm."

"You will have to sleep on this couch, so that we do not need to summon housekeeping at this hour," Spock said.

"Uh huh."

"Here is some water." Spock handed him a glass. "Drink it." Spock handed him something small, a pill. "Nausea tablet from your medikit. Take it." McCoy obediently took it from him, swallowed it and drank the water, all of it. Spock took the empty glass from him, set it on the coffee table.

"Before you sleep, tell me your name," Spock commanded.

"I'm okay, Spock." McCoy dozed off. And suddenly he was someplace else. In some kind of castle or palace. Royal palace. Royal palace of Tulip. Wearing a rainbow and gold uniform of a king. Epaulets on the sleeves. He wore a crown. A sash, with royal order pins. He was Leonard I, King of Tulip. And he was marrying Prince Spock, the Duke of Tulip. Who was dressed similar to he, but not as nice. The Duke of Tulip met his lips, sealing the deal. The crowd below them, must be billions, cheered--

"Tell me your name," Spock said.

McCoy opened his eyes. He was back in the hotel room, on the sofa. "Leonard McCoy."

"What is my name?"

"Spock."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Yeah..." McCoy glanced around, things were calming down, sobering up. "In this goddamned hotel room on this god forsaken Tulip planet. This 'no-tell' hotel."

"I am relieved you are starting to sound like yourself."

"Some fucking honeymoon this turned out to be," McCoy grumbled.

"I see you have regained your sense of humor."

"You wouldn't know humor if it bit you on the ass, you green blooded son of a bitch!"

"I see you have passed the lucidity test." Spock observed him for a few moments, obviously satisfied with that.

McCoy heard the scanner whirl. "Now what in the hell you doin'?"

"Vitals check."

"Stop fucking playing doctor," McCoy muttered, his eyes closed, after a moment he asked: "Are my vitals alright?"

"Yes. Your potassium is a bit low."

"Shut up with that. Go check on Jim, will ya?"

"Yes, I will."

"Are you alright, Spock?" 

"I am fine."

McCoy finally got a good look at the Vulcan. "Where's your blue shirt?"

"Go to sleep, Doctor. I will return shortly, do not fret." Spock got up from the sofa, went over went to the front door. 

"Spock," McCoy called after him. 

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

Spock nodded, exited through the door. 

In Spock's wake, McCoy lolled his head over, noticed some kind of large, black screen taking up most of the wall. A video screen or television, it must be. "Wouldn't it be funny if big brother was watching me?" He whispered to himself. He felt over for some kind of remote control, or maybe it took voice commands. "TV on." The screen came alive. "I'll be damned." 

Flickering images always put him to sleep. The TV droned on. He was starting to feel better. He closed his eyes, began to doze off. 

Some news program on the TV but he barely heard or saw it: ' _Our very own Dr. Leonard McCoy has appeared on our planet for his first ever visit! Isn't that glorious, fellow citizens of Tulip? Her Majesty Queen Tulip showed Dr. McCoy and his party the finer points of Tulipian cuisine. After the dinner there was post meal dancing. Here is footage of Dr. McCoy and Spock dancing together. The couple are planning a wedding soon. An exclusive interview to come, right here on the Tulip News Network!'_

He opened his eyes, looked down at himself. He had his Starfleet uniform on. He got out of the heart shaped bed, picked up the ice bucket the concierge had given him. Needed some more ice.

_‘Rrrrrrrrriiiiiinnnnnng! Rrrrrriiiiiiinnnnng! Rrrrriiiiiiiiinnnnngggg! Rrrrrriiiiinnnnggg!’_

He jumped at the loud noise. What in the hell was that?

He spotted the source of it: Some kind of a black contraption, sitting on the nightstand, next to his tri-corder, phaser and the uneaten chocolate cake.

He knew of these things, a rudimentary communications device they used in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. A telephone, wasn’t it? The ringing was because somebody was on the other line, wanting to talk.

It rang again and again and again. He supposed it was going to keep doing so, making that noise, until he picked up the receiver. He’d seen enough old movies to know what to do.

He set down the ice bucket. He walked over, picked up the device, held it to his mouth and ear. “Hello?” 

“Mr. Kelley,” a voice he didn’t recognize said.

“Huh?”

“Mr. Kelley, are you ready?”

“I’m sorry, there’s nobody here by that name,” McCoy replied. “You have the wrong room.”

He hung up the receiver on it’s base. He stared at it a moment. That was odd. Funny, he hadn’t noticed that object before.

He picked up the entire contraption, studied underneath it. Wasn’t there usually a cord that attached these things to the wall? That’s how it was in those old ‘film noir’ movies. On this particular telephone there was nothing. So it probably ran on some kind of modern day wiring but just resembled an old telephone. Very clever. That Mr. Kelley probably had an early meeting or something, to be getting a call at 04:00.

He set the telephone down.

There was a valet, in front of him. Holding a spiffy brown suit on a hanger. Complete with white shirt, a tie, shoes and socks. Old Earth, circa 1940's. He put it on. The whole ensemble. There was even a derby hat. He put that on, too. Some gold cufflinks on the valet, too. They were engraved: 'JDK'. Those weren't his initials. They were somebody else's. He put the cufflinks on anyway. He walked over to the mirror. Didn't even look like himself. But damn he looked good. Sophisticated. Like he belonged in one of those old black and white film noir gangster movies. He spied the rainbow bag on the dresser. He pulled out a condom, slid it into his pocket. Never know if he might need this, dressed to kill.

Now, there was an odor. Had to be his imagination. He sniffed at the air. Something was definitely burning. Paper? No, it was a tobacco scent. He'd occasionally smelled this on Earth, or some other planets. It was a very old fashioned, very dangerous way to get a hit of nicotine. He noticed a small red box on the dresser. He went over, picked it up. Opened the top. Inside the box was filled with old fashioned Earth style cigarettes. Funny, he hadn’t seen that before in his room, either. There was a silver zippo lighter. He picked it up, looked at it. There was an inscription on the silver. ‘God’s Favorite Customer.’ Now who the devil did that belong to?

Without thinking, he put the cigarette in his mouth, flicked the lighter, lit it. He took a long drag on it, like he’d been doing it for years, letting the smoke relax him. Filthy habit, he should quit— he smoked too damned much, just imagine what it was doing to his lungs— but not today, not now. He put the lighter in his pocket. The edges of everything grew fuzzy. He tried to blink it away. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.

“Mr. Kelley.”

The voice sounded like it was far away, like from a hilltop. “Mr. Kelley. Are you ready? Mr. Kelley. Mr. Kelley are you ready?”

“What?” he said, taking another long drag on the cigarette. “Oh. Yes.”

He was standing on a street corner in the middle of Los Angeles. Circa about 1942. Busy. Lots of people around him. He could smell the exhaust in the air, the smell of womens' perfume, cigarette smoke. Suddenly there was another figure, next to him. Spock. Also, dressed in a suit. 'Cept it was nicer than his was. Black. A zoot suit. Hat. Damn, Spock looked exactly like a mobster. Spock embodied one. Why in the hell did Spock always get to look so damned good, huh?

McCoy took another long drag on his cigarette. Exhaled the smoke. He wrinkled his face up into a snarl, yanked Spock to him by the black skinny tie, kissed that mob boss Vulcan, 'Don Spock' he was, yes that was his name, right there in the middle of that busy street, holding a lit cigarette, right in front of everybody. Nobody cared, nobody stared, they all went about their business. McCoy had been on his way to visit Madame Slinky, a cute blond in a pretty dress, but maybe Spock fit the bill, maybe Don Spock might want to fool around in a bed, in a dingy motel room, the seediest they could find. Fan blowing in the corner. He could hear the blades whirl. Looking out the window, the slats making a filtered light across his face. "You know where a fella can get a piece of ass around here?"

He'd take Spock upstairs into that room, pull down Spock's Zoot suit trousers and underwear and fuck him. 

McCoy blinked. 

Now, Spock was gone and there was another, a different figure in front of him, holding one of those film style slate boards, like they had back in the old days. The writing on it said: ‘Director: Joseph Pevney, Scene 24A. Take 66'.

He took another long drag on the cigarette. Like his life depended on it. Surely his career depended on it. Come on, focus. Kept going up on his line. Sixty-six takes? No wonder he was so tired. He couldn’t get it right. Had to get it right or else they’d go into golden time, everybody wanted to go home at a decent hour. The crew was watching, chomping on their donuts, bored, waiting. If he screwed around too much, wasted too much money, he’d get fired, the producer’d find somebody else to replace him. Somebody more handsome. Maybe that fucking Rory Calhoon. Not if he could help it. This time he’d get the take right.

The slate went down with a clap and now he was in the lobby of the hotel, standing at the front desk.

Bill Murray, the guy from the movie ‘Groundhog Day’, was dressed in a hotel uniform, a cap on the man’s head, smiling back at him. Bill Murray pushed the book towards him. “Sign here, please.”

McCoy signed his name.

“Mr. Kelley,” Bill Murray said. “Good to see you again.”

“Oh. Of course. Thank you,” McCoy replied. “Glad to be here.”

“There is a few outstanding charges, just before we check you in. Now let’s see here….” Bill Murray glanced at his files.

“Oh. Well.” McCoy dug into his pocket. He pulled out his Diner’s Club card. “Charge it, please.”

Bill Murray took the card and stuck it into one of those old fashioned manual charge card readers. He slid the device over the card, then back. He held out the receipt, printed in blue ink.

McCoy signed it. Bill Murray handed him back his card. McCoy stuck it into the pocket of his suit.

“Just you to let you know, you left your passport in the mini fridge,” Bill Murray said.

McCoy gave out a nervous laugh. “I did? Now why in the hell would I go and do a thing like that?”

“The message at the desk, says the picture isn’t yours.”

“Oh, I’ll do better next time.”

“And a reminder about our policy. Don’t leave your mattress in the rain if you sleep out on the balcony. Okay dear?”

“Sorry about that.” McCoy bent down, picked up his suitcase.

“Are you alright, Mr. Kelley?”

“Of course I am. I’m feeling good and I’m feeling so fine.”

“Glad to hear it, Mr. Kelley. We’ve been worried about you.”

“Don’t be alarmed, this is just my vibe. I’m living on a cloud.” McCoy added, and smiled. “That’s all.” McCoy moved away from the desk, walked over to a scale model of the hotel on display. A wax figure stood on the roof of the model. He puzzled over it, the figure looked exactly like him.

“Mr. Kelley, your cab is waiting.”

McCoy nodded his thanks, walked out through the double doors. He noted the palm trees, the breeze hit his face.

He got into the cab.

“Where to, man?” the driver said.

“Just uh….” He had no idea. “Anywhere. Home, I guess.”

They sped around the corner. He glanced out the window. Lots more palm trees. Looked like he was in L.A. or the Valley maybe Miami. He was on a dark desert highway: ‘Ventura Boulevard’ it said on the sign. The warm smell of colitas, rising through the air. They went around the corner, somebody standing there stared at him.

He noticed the music the cab driver was playing. Ugh. This horrible excuse for music was aggravating his headache: ‘…And I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight, with a billion stars all around…’

“Jesus, man, could you change the channel?” McCoy asked.

“Fuck you, man, if you don’t like my fucking music get your own fucking cab,” the cab driver said.

“Listen, I had a really rough day and I hate the fucking Eagles,” McCoy replied.

Suddenly the cab screeched to a halt. “Get the fuck out of my cab!” The cab driver opened the door, grabbed him, threw him out.

“Oh, come on! Dammit!”

They were right back at the entrance of the hotel. The very same hotel. ‘Hotel California’. They’d gone around in a circle. He wrinkled up his face. He scratched his head. How very strange.

“I’m really sorry, but I hate the Eagles,” McCoy said. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

No answer. The driver had disappeared. The cab was empty.

Suddenly there was a heavy thud, a bang, a vibration on the roof of the cab. Somebody had jumped off the hotel and landed there. A suicide. McCoy instinctively reached for the radial pulse. None.

“He’s dead, Jim,” McCoy whispered.

He glanced at his watch to call the time of death. He looked at the bloodied features, to identify the body.

The face was identical to his own.

He gasped. Touched his own cheek. He stumbled backwards.

Suddenly the dead man, his twin, got up off the roof, dusted himself off. The dead man, or he wasn’t very dead at all, very much alive or maybe it was a zombie. Whatever it was, it jumped into the driver’s seat and took off in the cab. McCoy watched. Blinking. Holy shit.

He staggered back into the hotel. Through the double doors, and into the lobby.

Bill Murray handed him a glass of brandy. McCoy gulped it down.

“Some rest will do you good, Mr. Kelley,” Bill Murray said.

“Who was that guy?” McCoy asked, shaking. His thumb pointed back at the doors.

“What guy?”

“There was a….a jumper,” McCoy stammered, “a suicide. He…he uh…he landed on a cab…face all bloody, no pulse, but he wasn’t dead, he got up, took off and he looked like…just like….me.”

“Some rest will do you good, Mr. Kelley.”

“My name isn’t Kelley. I’m….” But he couldn’t remember his own name. “I’m…I’m…my….”

“You’ve signed the registry,” Bill Murray said. “Look. There’s your name right there, Mr. Kelley.”

McCoy looked at the scrawl in ballpoint pen. ‘DeForest Kelley’. “That’s not me. That’s not my name. My name is….” He wracked his brain. He couldn’t remember. He began to panic. What was his name?

“You’ve signed the registry. All is taken care of. Some rest will do you good, Mr. Kelley.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“You and your guest have a pleasant stay. What beautiful pointed ears that young man had, the other day.”

“I don’t have any guests.” McCoy shook his head. “It’s just me. I’m the only one.”

A gaggle of beautiful girls— women actually— svelte, buxom females walked by in bikinis and high heels. Some had blonde hair, a few brunettes, a redhead or two, all of them wearing cat-eye sunglasses. They all appeared to be Hollywood starlets from the early twentieth century.

Curious, McCoy followed them outside, to the pool in the courtyard. The starlets were all arranged around it in an unnatural way, like a director had staged them there.

McCoy came back inside to the lobby. He asked Bill Murray at the front desk. “Are those extras in a film?”

“Mr. Kelley, for the seventh time we have have no knowledge of a film that is being shot outside. Those aren’t extras in a movie they’re are clientele. No they aren’t running lines and they aren’t exactly thrilled.”

McCoy nodded. This must be some kind of a glamorous hotel, this ‘Hotel California’. He liked the idea of it. Staying here. Made him feel glamorous too, like he was some kinda movie star. He wondered if he’d packed his swimsuit.

“Mr. Kelley, would you like a legato on the patio? Perhaps we should call someone to join you? You shouldn’t drink alone.”

“That’s quite alright, this is just my vibe,” McCoy told him. “I’m feeling good and I’m feeling fine.”

“Perhaps you need some rest, Mr. Kelley.” Bill Murray slid over his hotel key. “It will do you good.”

McCoy looked at the tag. ‘Hotel California’. Just like the Eagles song: You can enter any time you like, but you can never leave.

“Oh, man,” McCoy said. “I really hate the fucking Eagles.” He was more of a Jazz guy himself, Nimoy, that fucking hippy, liked The Beatles and Creedence.

He slipped the key into his pocket.

He left Bill Murray, got into the elevator.

He pressed the button for the very top. He needed some fresh air and the roof was the perfect place. This could be heaven or this could be hell. It was all up to him. Wasn’t it. This hotel was such a lovely place. Such a lovely place. There was plenty of room here at the Hotel California. Any time of year.

The elevator stopped on the 13rd floor. The doors opened. Somebody entered. McCoy glanced up. “Oh, hello. Fancy seeing you here.”

Spock was dressed in an old Earth military uniform. It surely wasn’t Starfleet issue. Looked like 20th century Army to be precise. Khaki colored, even down to the tie. Spock looked dashing in it, anyway.

“Why are you wearing that costume, Spock? Are you in the film, too?” McCoy wondered.

“I do believe you are mouthing off to a superior,” Spock said. “Drop and give me fifty, Private.”

“Private?" McCoy asked. "Surely you jest."

“The correct term of address to me, Private, is: ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant’ or ‘Sir, yes Sir,” Spock said. “Anything else is grounds for punishment.”

McCoy scoffed at the obviously insane Vulcan. “I ain't doing shit. You can forget it.”

Spock, the drill sergeant, drew closer. Got into his face. “The correct term of address is ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant’ or ‘Sir, yes Sir’.”

“Spock, what’s the matter with ya, you some kinda fucking nut?”

‘Drill Sergeant’ Spock grabbed McCoy by the tie, yanked him forward so that their faces were only an inch apart. “Yes, Drill Sergeant. Say it.”

“No,” McCoy said.

“No…what?”

McCoy licked his lips. “I’m not saying it, I’m not--”

Spock shoved McCoy to the floor of the elevator. Somehow the elevator car had stopped. McCoy hit the ground with an ‘ooph’. “Give me fifty, Private.”

McCoy tried to get up, but Spock held him down with a firm boot to his ass.

“Spock, enough. Cut it out.”

“Give me fifty, Private.”

“Spock you’re starting to—” McCoy was going to say ‘scare the living daylights outta me’ but he wasn’t going to admit that to this Vulcan who’d gone nuts. He tried to get up again, but yet again the first officer/drill sergeant held him down with his boot. Obviously Spock wasn’t going to let him up until he’d complied. “Fine. Alright, fine. You want fifty push-ups, alright, Sir. Mess up my nice suit.”

“Count them off, Private.”

McCoy did, all the way to fifty. It was stifling hot in this elevator car, and he found himself sweating like a pig.

Spock held him down to the floor again with his boot. “Very nice, Private. You are quite fit. Nice ass-ets.”

“Let me up, Spock.”

“’May I stand, Drill Sergeant?’, say it.”

“You’re—”

“Say it.”

McCoy breathed. “Fine. ‘May I stand, Drill Sergeant?’" McCoy added in a, "‘Sir’. Are you happy now? Let me up!”

Spock finally removed his boot.

McCoy scrambled up. “What the devil’s gotten into you?”

“Gotten into me, Private? Why, nothing. However I am rather pleased at your performance and your demonstration of physical fitness.”

Spock grabbed McCoy's tie yet again, yanked him forward, this time claiming his mouth. McCoy gave up protesting. His eyes slid closed as he felt Spock’s tongue slide into his mouth. Now he was achingly tumescent. He liked when Spock manhandled him, that's for sure. He was sweaty and hard.

Spock broke away from the kiss, sliding down McCoy’s body. Knelt down, undid McCoy’s button on his trousers. McCoy kept silent, biting his lip. Spock was going to give him head? Go down on him? In this elevator? Really? Oh shit. His breath hitched.

“I am going to reward you, Private,” Spock whispered.

It was the combination of that filthy sounding, sexy whisper paired with the odd, Spock’s expert pulling down of his pants and underwear that aroused McCoy beyond belief. McCoy watched, and fuck that damned Vulcan could call him ‘Private’ or anything else, make him do as many push-ups as he wanted to and he’d comply if Spock was going to do this and—

“Oh, fuck,” McCoy breathed. “Oh god yes, like that.” Spock’s warm mouth was on his dick and it was like heaven, yeah, just like heaven and—

McCoy groaned. All he could see was Spock sucking on his cock, in the mirror.

Suddenly Spock pulled his mouth off of his dick. Spun him around. "Give me the condom from your pocket."

How'd Sergeant Spock know it was there, but of course McCoy didn't ask, he just meekly dug in, found it, handed it over as ordered. He looked up at the mirrored ceiling as Spock rolled on the condom. Spock slid his condom clad cock into McCoy's ass. Oh dear lord it felt so--

McCoy cried out, came all over the elevator buttons. 

Suddenly, Sergeant Spock was gone. 

McCoy panted as he tucked himself into his pants and zipped up. His face was flushed, he was still breathing heavily, he was weak in the knees. He’ll go up to the roof, yes that was it, he’ll go up there to cool off. After being fucked in the ass in an elevator stuck between floors. The roof is where he’d been originally headed anyway. He hit the resume button on the elevator.

The elevator dinged. Here he was. The roof, He exited the elevator, headed to the water tank. He opened it up. Wasn’t locked. Ah, nice cool water to float in for awhile. He would take off his suit as it would weigh him down when it got wet. He was so sweaty. He peeled it off. Now he was naked.

He got into the tank. Lay on top of the water. Arms and legs out. Floating. Relaxing. This was nice. What a nice surprise. Nobody up here to bother him. Nice way to relax after being fucked. Fucked in the elevator.

He’d check out of Hotel California tomorrow morning, first thing. But right now he never wanted to leave this place. Not ever.

on to the next chapter...


	6. Breathe (In the Air)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something really weird is happening on Tulip II.

McCoy floated in the nice cool refreshing water. Completely relaxed. Limbs spread eagle. Aw, he could stay like this forever. All he needed was a Mint Julep in his hand, the sounds of some classic rock music from a vinyl record, or maybe a live band, and things would be perfect.

Suddenly Jim and Spock were in the water with him. “Bones!"

McCoy smiled. Jim and Spock. How nice. He was so glad they could join him. This was fun, wasn’t it? Water. Refreshing. It was starting to warm up, like embryonic fluid. He never wanted to leave.

“He's gonna drown in there if we don't fish him out,” Jim said.

He didn’t want to get out.

He felt something. Fingers. Warm fingers stroking his arm. “Dr. McCoy.” Spock’s deep baritone, strong arms around him, pulling him someplace. “Doctor. Come you must get out.”

He tried to obey Spock’s voice, but couldn’t.

He felt something strike his face. A slap. That’s what it was.

Ow. Dammit!

He opened his eyes. He was somewhere. Not in his godforsaken no-tell hotel's heart shaped bed. (Where the fuck was he?) He was...in his birthday suit. Floating. FACE DOWN. In water. He panicked, gasped. Breathed in. But it wasn't air. Water sucked up through his nostrils, then into his trachea and lungs. Everything went dark.

Spock managed to wrangle him out of the water, and Jim assisted with lowering him down onto the rooftop deck. The cement felt hard and warm under his back and ass. It was light out, warm, sunny with the red tinge of Betelgeuse. The darkness lifted. McCoy felt his hand being lifted, up, the radial pulse checked.

He couldn't breathe. He felt his head being tipped back. (No, don't do that, that's wrong.) 

"Is there a pulse?" Jim asked Spock.

"Yes."

"Put him on his belly, for gods sake," Jim said to Spock. Spock had his medikit, McCoy heard his type II scanner whirl. 

"Water in both lung sacks," Spock said. Spock pressed firmly on his back, until McCoy retched and vomited up the liquid. Spock scanned him again.

McCoy finally could breathe before he started coughing. And coughing. And coughing. His lungs were on fire. He heard squishing sounds as he took in air. Lung congestion.

"Do it again," Jim commanded.

Suddenly, there was a woman's voice from behind him: "I'm authorized to treat this patient." 

Jim and Spock looked up. Stared, open mouthed for a few moments. The woman, unconcerned by their reaction, crouched down, McCoy heard her voice right next to his ear. "I'm Dr. One. I'm with the hotel." She used her own instrument, or scanner, the whirling sound made a different noise, more like tinkerbell if he had to describe it exactly. There was another sound of her digging in her own, presumably, medical bag. McCoy then felt the prick of some kind of needle into the muscle of his forearm. Didn't this damn planet's medical staff have hyposprays?

"Ow," McCoy managed, then coughed some more. 

"What did you give him?" Jim demanded. 

"A medication that dissolves the water molecules from the lung tissue, and a tri-ox compound," Dr. One said.

"You don't even know him, his history, if he's allergic to anything," Jim said.

Dr. One patted her own scanner. "This told me everything I needed to know about him. Besides it's better to treat anaphylaxis, than a drowning victim, don't you agree?"

McCoy coughed again. "It's alright, Jim. I'm alright." He coughed again as he felt someone cover him with a warm blanket. He flipped over onto his back, the blanket covering his dignity. (well the last shreds of it, being as this was completely humiliating.) Eventually, with Spock's and Dr. One's help, he sat up. He glanced over at the physician and stared at her. "What the devil?"

Dr. One's hair was styled into a mohawk that was dyed in various colors. She had on a medical coat covered in silver sequins and what looked like rhinestones. Very sparkly. Her make up was very severe, with multi-colored eyeshadow and lipstick. Dr. One looked like she was about to go on stage in some kind of bizarre medical musical extravaganza. Or a maybe a production of the 'Demon Surgeon from Outer Space' or something like that.

"Dr. One saved your life, Bones," Jim said. 

"Dressed like that?" McCoy huffed.

"Bones, I don't think the outfit that the good doctor is wearing, makes any difference, does it?" Jim hissed.

They made the long walk of shame into the hotel elevator: McCoy, Spock, Jim and Dr. One. Down to the 6th floor. McCoy, the blanket wrapped around him, kept his head down as they walked down the hallway. 

They entered his room. "What in god's name happened here?" McCoy glanced around. His bedsheets were strewn on the carpet, next to the heart shaped bed. His water glass knocked over. His own medikit tipped over on the floor. He walked past the mess, sat down on the sofa, flanked by the captain and Spock on either side of him. Dr. One stood in front of him. 

"Which one of you is the boyfriend?" Dr. One asked, as she dug in her medical bag.

Spock coughed. 

Jim said: "Not me."

"Neither one of them," McCoy said. 

Dr. One didn't appear to hear any of their protests. "Your boyfriend should watch over you for a few hours. Make sure you're ok. Rest."

"Doctor," McCoy said, "I don't have a boyfriend."

Dr. One ignored him, pulled out another hypodermic needle. McCoy eyed it, warily. "I'm going to give you an antibiotic. Just in case of pneumonia."

"Yeah I know. Don't you have it in tablet form?" McCoy said.

She, yet again, ignored him, shot him in the arm. "Owwww! Dammit!" He rubbed the injection site.

"Stop being such a baby, Bones," Jim hissed as Dr. One shoved the hypodermic back into her bag. 

"Thank you, Doctor," Jim told Dr. One.

"I'll send you my bill. I hope you feel better, Leonard," Dr. One said. "Rest for a few hours." McCoy idly wondered how she knew his name, but somebody must have told her, so he didn't say anything. 

She left. 

As soon as she was gone, McCoy and Jim immediately errupted into hysterical laughter, before McCoy started sputtering and coughing. Jim patted him on the upper back. "You aright, Bones?"

"Yeah." McCoy chuckled. "What the fuck was that all about?" 

"Even better question," Jim said, "what the fuck were you doing in the hotel water tank, Bones?!" Damn, Jim usually only cussed when he was really pissed off.

"How the fuck should I know, Jim?"

"Drunken sleep walking?"

"It must have been," McCoy said.

"Naked drunken sleep walking. Now I've officially witnessed everything, with you. The whole fucking hotel has probably seen your dick. Happy now?"

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"Jesus Christ. You scared the shit out of me." Jim turned, pointed at Spock, who had been quiet through all of this. "You! You were supposed to watch him! I told you to stay overnight with him!"

"Forgive me, Captain. I had assumed, incorrectly, that you were also ill. After finding you safely asleep, I immediately returned to McCoy, discovered he was missing, then I alerted you."

"Bones is a nightmare when he's drunk." Jim motioned. "Enterprise scanners couldn't find you right away, Bones. We had to get the hotel staff involved to find you. Took about an hour. They checked that water tank because, get this, a few months ago, somebody else died in there."

"No kidding," McCoy said. 

"Yeah. Except that time, they didn't find out right away. And the hotel guests started wondering why their water had turned brown."

"Alright, I heard enough, Jim," McCoy said. "That's creepy. Who told you this?"

"The front desk clerk."

"Oh."

Turns out that water tank is lined in lead. Can you imagine that? Scanners couldn't penetrate that."

"I can't believe I was floating in the hotel water tank," McCoy breathed out. 

"You nearly died!" Jim said. 

"Well, I'm alright, now, Jim." 

"No more booze for you! No more! That's it!" Jim made a cutting motion with his hand.

"Alright, Jim, alright. I'm sorry." 

Jim pointed at Spock. "Next time I tell you to stay with him, you stay with him!"

"Yes, Captain." 

Jim looked at Spock who was still in his black undershirt and trousers. "Where's your blue tunic?"

Spock ignored the question, got up from the sofa. "Dr. McCoy would you like some water? To drink, I mean."

"Very funny. Yes, please."

Spock came back with a water glass, a red fluffy robe and a pair of red fluffy polkadotted slippers. "I found these in the bathroom," he said as he handed McCoy the water glass.

McCoy drank some water, then set it down. He dropped the blanket, noticed Jim glance away at his nakedness, but Spock stared. He donned the robe, tying the sash. He noticed the blanket was also very gaudy, purple and pink striped with rhinestones scattered throughout. Jim thrust the polka dotted slippers at him. "No, Jim, I'm not wearing those," McCoy protested. 

"That's your punishment, Bones, you have to put these on."

McCoy sighed, gave up, stepped into the ridiculous polka dotted slippers. He got up from the sofa, wandered around the hotel room. The slippers were amazingly comfortable, even if ridiculous. "It's your fault anyway, Jim. Making me get into the hot tub. The heat got me too wasted and I blacked out. I told you so."

"Yes, lesson learned."

"You have a hot tub?" Spock asked.

"Yeah," McCoy said, in a completely dejected, deflated tone. "It comes out of the floor."

"Fascinating." 

"You know what a hot tub is, Spock?" McCoy said. "I'm impressed!" He busied himself by trying to pick up his bedding from the carpet, but eventually gave up. "Where in the hell has my uniform gotten to?"

"I don't know, but you're going to rest for a few hours, like the doctor ordered," Jim said.

"I am also a doctor, and I'm alright. Aren't we beaming up to the ship soon?"

"Not yet, Bones." 

McCoy hunted around again for his illusive uniform, it was nowhere to be seen, not even his boots. All he could find was Spock's tunic, wadded up on the nightstand. "Here's yours, Mr. Spock." 

The Vulcan came up, took the shirt out of his hands. "Thank you." But he didn't put it on, instead rolling it up, tightly, then hanging on to it. 

Somebody was opening the door, Jim, Spock, McCoy spun around, waited, poised to strike. The door opened:

"Hello, good morning, HOUSEKEEPING!" the woman, what looked and sounded like a hotel maid, called out. "How are you doing today?"

Jim, Spock, McCoy immediately relaxed. "Oh," McCoy said. "Hi. We're fine."

The hotel maid stared at McCoy, for a moment, then she became frantic, hysterical. "Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!"

McCoy blinked at her. "Something I can help you with, Ma'am?"

She was clad in a silver maid's style uniform, made from strange foil type fabric, unusual for a maid's uniform. She was a little on the chubby side, and the skirt she wore was pretty damned short but he wasn't really complaining. She wore fishnet pantyhose, and sensible sneakers on her feet. She had interesting make-up decorating her humanoid features: Rainbow eyeshadow, glitter on her cheeks, green lipstick. Her long hair was dyed all different colors. She had extremely long, fake fingernails, almost looked like talons, painted in yellow (How did she manage to perform her duties with those things on?). She brought her hands to her face. "Oh my goodness! Okay, I'll change your bedding, make everything good as new, you just relax!"

McCoy tilted his head at her reaction to him, but didn't persue any line of questioning. He walked over to the sofa with Jim and Spock, sat down. 

The maid quickly did some cleaning, took off the soiled bedsheets, put new ones on, along with new pink pillowcases on the square pillows and fluffed up the red satiny lips pillows. She then cleaned the 'pepto bismo' colored shag carpeting, the bedside table, put his medikit on the dresser, set out brand new water glasses and towels in the bathroom. All the stuff maids usually did. Vacuumed around a little bit. Made up the bed all nice and pretty. The three of them watched her work, intently. She occasionally looked up, smiled at McCoy while performing her task. He guessed her 'talons' didn't affect her job duties too much after all.

"Sorry about the mess," McCoy told her.

She came over to the sofa. "I'm sorry, Dr. McCoy, you make me so nervous!" 

He gave out an uncomfortable chuckle. "You know who I am?"

"Yes, of course! Everybody knows who you are." 

"They do?"

"Yes!" The maid nodded. "You're all over the TV. Every program. You had an exciting morning! Are you okay? And your fiancee is here too! Oh my goodness! Spock, isn't it? Oh my goodness!" She blushed, put her hands to her face again. "Both of you!"

"My what?!" McCoy turned to Spock, who turned to him at the same time. They met eyes, then quickly glanced away from each other.

"There must be some mistake," Spock whispered. 

"See, you don't believe me, look!" The maid grabbed a remote control, from god knows where, and turned on the large screen on the wall. It sprang to life. His face was on screen. Some news program was showing footage of him dancing, last night, with Spock. Then this morning, unconscious and naked, after being taken out of the water. They blurred out his genitalia, that was kind of them. 

McCoy stared at the TV, aghast, horrified, a chill running through him. "That can't be. It's someone else, a doppleganger!"

"That's you, Dr. Leonard McCoy!" the maid said. "And believe me you're much more handsome in person!"

"Unbelievable," McCoy replied, stunned. 

"I'll be right back, okay?" the maid shook her bundle of dirty linens at him. 

"Yeah, okay, Ma'am," McCoy said, distant, staring at the TV. 

The maid left. 

"Jim, change the channel," McCoy said. Jim hesitated a moment, then did so, surfing the channels, going on to the next one, then the next one, and the next one, and the next one. Must have been two hundred to five hundred channels. They all had his face on there. "This can't be real. Spock, please, pinch me. Am I dreaming?" 

Spock obediently pinched him. "Ow!" McCoy hissed at the sharp pain, did the pointy eared bastard have to do it that goddamned hard? And right on his injection site, too, dammit.

"I assure you, Dr. McCoy, this is all quite real," Spock confirmed. 

McCoy nodded. "Then I am in deep shit. We are in deep shit." 

"Well, I don't know what to say, Bones," Jim said. "Why they pick you?"

"How the fuck should I know?" McCoy yelled out, now himself completely frantic and hysterical.

"Maybe, maybe we can use this to our advantage," Jim replied. "We do want them to join the Federation." 

McCoy finally nodded. "Fine. But can we please hurry up and get out of here? Once you get confirmation and we can send the diplomats over, can we beam up to the Enterprise?"

"Bones, relax," Jim said. "You know this could turn out to be a great thing. Especially for you. I was thinking...we could have shore leave here. What do you think?"

"What?! No! Anywhere but here!"

"Come on, Bones, the Tulipians are nice, welcoming people, the planet is great. They're up to date on their tech. It's tropical. Fun. The Enterprise crew would love it, everybody's tired, needing a break. I just gotta get permission from the queen."

"No! Absolutely not!" 

Suddenly the door opened: "KNOCK KNOCK! HOUSEKEEPING again!" Why did maids never bother to wait to be invited, they just came right in? That's what he wanted to know. Their maid entered, joined by her friend, another hotel maid. This maid was also in full, crazy make-up. Wild sprayed, teased out, dyed hair (he could smell the hairspray), bizarre eye shadow, purple lipstick, heavy perfume, a silver maid's outfit, with a frilly little apron. 

This other maid, who looked quite a bit younger and thinner than their maid, squealed: "Oh my goodness, it's Dr. Leonard McCoy!"

"See, I told you!" Their maid said to the other maid. 

"Can you sign these for us?" they both asked. "Please?"

No longer freaked out, nor angry, just intrigued, McCoy asked. "What would you like me to sign for you?"

Their maid held out a real, tree-book, the other maid held out an 8 x 10 photograph of him (a real hard copy). McCoy took the photograph from the maid, examined it a second. She handed him a silver pen. "Uh, who do I make this out to?" he asked. 

"I'm Darlat and," the other maid indicated their maid, "This is Rosemilloia." The two women both giggled.

"Lovely names," McCoy said. "Alright." He clicked on the pen, with Jim and Spock looking on, amused. "Uh, this is yours? Uh Darlat? Alright. Can you spell that for me?" She did and he signed: 'To Darlat, Best Wishes from Dr. Leonard McCoy." He handed it over with a smile, then took the book from Rosemilloia their maid. He flipped through the book. "Well, I'll be damned." 

"What is it, Bones?" Jim asked. 

"These are a real collection of my articles that I've written for the Lancet. Where'd you get this?" he asked Rosemilloia.

"It's in all the bookstores! Best seller."

He signed her book, like he'd signed the photograph. Handed it over. "Here you go, Darlin'."

Rosemilloia shyly produced, from her pocket, what looked like a communicator. Or a phone. Some of the planets had smartphones like what they had on Earth. "Can we have a photo with you? Please?"

McCoy blushed, looked down at himself in his red robe and his crazy polka dotted slippers. Well, he probably fit right in, now, with these Tulipians and their bizarre sartorial choices. "Uh...sure, okay." The maid handed her phone over to Spock, who didn't know how to use the camera, she had to show him in an awkward moment. Then McCoy put his arms around both ladies as Spock snapped their picture.

The women squealed, took the phone back from Spock, then walked out of the room with their autographed items. The door shut behind them. 

McCoy, Jim and Spock stared at the door, open mouthed. 

"I think you're right, Bones. We are in deep shit."

"Oh my god," McCoy said. "Oh my god." McCoy went over to the sofa, sat down heavily. "I can't believe this. I think I'm going to throw up."

"Don't bones, after all we went through to get your linens changed." Jim patted his shoulder. "Are you even getting paid for that book?" 

"I don't know," McCoy whined. "Does it really matter?"

"Why does every this whole damned planet keep insisting that you both are a couple?" Jim wondered.

"I don't know!" McCoy shrieked out. 

"I do not know," Spock said.

"Maybe you shouldn't stay with him, maybe I should," Jim said, scratching his face. "It only encourages them. It's bizarre."

"I don't need to be babysat, by either of you, thank you very much. I'd like to use the bathroom in peace. I don't need a fucking nursemaid, I just am..." McCoy yawned. "Getting kinda sleepy."

"Okay, you get some rest for a few hours. You had a rough night. I'm going to go talk to the queen."

"You do that, Captain," McCoy said.

"Call me if anything else happens," Jim said.

"I will, I will." McCoy waved him off.

The captain and Spock went to the door, before McCoy piped up: "Mr. Spock, a quick word with you, if I may." 

Spock looked at Jim who nodded. 

* 

McCoy lay in his freshly made bed, still clad in his robe, under the covers, in this ridiculous heart shaped bed, his polka dotted slippers nearby. Spock stood at McCoy's bedside. He patted the bed. "Sit, please, if you don't mind." 

Spock put his blue tunic on the nightstand. He sat on the bed, next to McCoy's hip, their respective left hands nearly touching. "Will you be alright?"

"Yeah." McCoy smiled. "It was so stupid. What possessed me to go up there, float in that water tank?" 

Spock shook his head. 

"Spock," McCoy said.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry. About...everything. My own atrocious behavior, I'm sure I was a drunken ass, and also, this whole scenario, their bizarre adoration of me, of you and I, mistaking us for...." McCoy looked away. "It must be humiliating for you. To hear them talk about us, in that way."

Spock nodded. "I do not know what motivates their behavior, but I am certain there must be a logical explanation."

"Spock has anything on this planet been logical, so far?" 

Spock met his eyes. "No." He grimaced. 

"And there's something else I want to apologize for."

"What is that?"

"I'm sorry for what happened, that one time, when I needed to get the semen sample from you. I acted unprofessionally and predatory. Jim knows. I told him what I did with you. Rather, what I did TO you."

Spock looked at the carpet. "I see."

"It won't happen again. Can't ever happen again." McCoy shifted. "I might put in for a transfer. Or I think some disciplinary action is in order." 

"If you believe that is best." Spock waited a moment, then asked. "Doctor, do you remember anything that happened overnight? I am curious."

McCoy thought about it a moment. "No. Why? Did I make a move on you?" He smacked his forehead. "Oh god, I'm sorry. Why do I do shit like that when I'm drunk?"

"Nothing like that," Spock said, and McCoy wasn't sure he believed the Vulcan but what ever. "Did you have difficulty in your undergrad courses, before medical school?"

"Yeah, actually I did. Chem series, nearly derailed my plans for med school. I got a 'C' the first time, in Gen Chem I, had to repeat it, for some reason Gen Chem really bit me on the ass. Couldn't get the goddamned concepts down. Especially stoichiometry."

"Fascinating."

"Yeah, not my proudest couple of years."

"However, you must have perservered, as you have been an M.D. for...years."

"Yeah."

"I too, had difficulty, at first, in my chemistry series," Spock admitted. "As a young student, much like yourself."

"No, not you, too!" McCoy bit his lip. "That's--"

"Our mutual favorite subject, yes."

"We love working in the lab together," McCoy breathed out.

"Indeed." 

"So, I uh," McCoy coughed a little, into his hand, "I didn't try to kiss you or anything, did I?"

"No, you did not, however you did embrace me in the shower," Spock told him.

McCoy's mouth gaped. "We...took a shower...together?" McCoy stammered as he met Spock's eyes. "Both of us? Alone?"

"You were covered in vomitus, I had to bathe you."

"Oh, of course. Shit, that's embarrassing, I'm sorry." McCoy glanced away.

"It is of no consequence."

"Anyway, thank you." McCoy looked at Spock and the First Officer seemed like he wanted to say something else, but held back, McCoy didn't know. "Later today, we both have to go collect some samples of the vegetation and soil. Before we head back to the ship." He started coughing, hacking coughs. Spock reached over and pounded on his back. "Thanks, just some remnants of water, most likely."

"Are you up to the task?"

"Of course I am. I'm alright. Why is everybody treating me like I'm not?" McCoy coughed again. "Dammit." Then grimaced, retched.

"Are you still feeling nauseous?"

"Yeah, I think it's a side effect of the antibiotic. Some of em make me feel real queasy."

"Would you like some reflexology on your feet, for the nausea? I performed it on you, earlier, before your unfortunate sojurn up to the hotel roof. The captain had previously instructed me in the disapline."

McCoy shrugged. "Oh, well, if you want. Why not?" 

Spock grasped his bare feet, one foot in each hand, began to press on the proper points, McCoy watched for a few minutes. It hurt a little but he didn't grumble. "So the captain taught you this? Why, so he could get you to rub his tired little tootsies?"

Spock smirked, (a real life smirk, how about that). "Perhaps."

"He's always making you do...."

Spock pressed down. "What was that?"

"Ow. Nothing. Maybe we'll make a D.O of you yet, or a reflexologist, or maybe a chiropractor." McCoy chuckled. "Y'know, if that First Officer thing doesn't pan out."

But the reflexology worked. He wasn't nauseated anymore. Now Spock was seemingly lost in thought, intently massaging McCoy's left foot. It felt really good, but almost obscene. He wondered why the Vulcan was doing this, maybe it was to make up for not properly looking after him, letting him get up onto the hotel roof, but it was up to him to put an end to this. He yanked his foot away. 

"My apologies. Was I hurting you?" 

"Uh...no. I uh..." McCoy cleared his throat, then got up out of the bed. "Listen, uh, thanks for the help, but I have to go to the bathroom, so I'll see you later, alright?" He put on the polka dotted slippers. 

Spock stood up, obviously took that as his cue to leave, as he grabbed his own blue tunic from the nightstand. McCoy wondered why he refused to put it on, but didn't ask. "You like the slippers," the first officer noted, with an amused tone. 

"Well, they're comfy, even if I look like a grandmother with 'em on."

"I see. Have a nice rest." 

"Thanks," McCoy said. Spock almost seemed reluctant to go. There was something between them, that had sprang up, some kind of intimacy, some kind of tenderness, that McCoy couldn't put his finger on. 

Spock eventually nodded, went to the door, exited. 

McCoy stood for a moment, wishing he could remember them in the shower, together. Damn. Must have been hot. "Oh boy, you fucking idiot," he hissed to himself. But he couldn't let things get out of hand.

Doing a little exploring of his room, he opened the drawers in the nightstand. Noticed a PADD that said, 'Holy Bible'. He went to the opening page: 'Placed by the Gideons'. Those Gideons were everywhere. He smiled, put it back in the drawer. Next, he searched around the room again for his uniform. It was nowhere to be seen. He didn't know what he was going to wear when he woke up.

His body ached like he’d run a marathon. He went back to the bedside table where his communicator was, flipped it open. 

_"Kirk here. How are you doing, Bones?"_

"I'm okay, Jim. Getting ready for my nap. Hey, I don't have anything to wear. I can't find my uniform, not even my underclothes, anywhere in the room. I don't know where it all got to."

_"Where'd you see it last?"_

"When I was getting into the hot tub, last night."

_"Maybe the maid took it."_

"Hell, I dunno. I can't remember."

_"Okay, okay, don't worry, I'll get you a replacement."_

"Alright, Jim. Thanks, see ya later. McCoy out."

*

He sat on the toilet for about a half hour. A memory came to him, sitting there, where his cat, Tulip used to watch him in the bathroom. Never could vacate his bowels alone, with her. After he finished up and flushed the toilet, he noticed over on the counter, next to the sink, in a rainbow dopp kit, there was a brand new rainbow colored toothbrush, along with rainbow, fruit flavored tooth-paste in a sealed plastic wrapper. He brushed his teeth. The toothpaste tasted like 'Fruity Pebbles' the cereal. It brought a wry smile to his face, reminding him of childhood. He spat out the toothpaste, rinsed his mouth and the sink out. He glanced in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t look so bad, but maybe the mirrors were enhanced as not to show his true, haggard reflection. His hair hung in his eyes, however.

He didn't want to go straight to bed, especially in the nude, after sitting on the toilet, so a shower was in order. Especially a nice water shower like this, which quite frankly on the Enterprise, was a luxury. He got into the shower, turned on the warm water. The spray hit his back, and he let out a huge groan.

In the shower, he wondered what it must have looked like, him and Spock in the shower. Probably very quick, very logical. Spock wouldn't have let any funny business go on. But he'd hugged Spock, in a very vulnerable state and location. Slid his arms around him. Damn what did that even feel like? Spock would have nipped that in the bud, right quick. But what if he hadn't? Spock gave no indication he would have liked something like that. But what if he did? What if the Vulcan had actually liked it? What if he was up for something like that, fucking around? What if Spock actually liked him holding him, naked, in the shower. McCoy's dick jumped, it took notice when he realized that their bare, unfettered cocks would have been very close together. 

Now his dick was rock hard, jutting out in front of him.

Fuck, he wished Spock was in the shower with him, right now. Why'd he have to send the first officer away, like that. Damn the fact that he couldn't do a goddamned thing with the Vulcan, or anybody aboard ship for that matter.

Of course his hand started to wander south, slid down his belly. He couldn't help it, it's like his penis was a fucking magnet. 

He stroked himself, imagining himself being fucked hard in the shower, he'd never been fucked before, never bottomed, but he'd let Spock do it to him. Hell he'd let Spock do whatever the fuck he wanted to him. Goddamn. His ass jerked, imagining the feelings. It didn't take long until he was cumming, squirting what felt like a month's worth of semen down the drain. He sighed.

He got out of the shower, towel dried himself. He put the towel around his waist. He supposed he was going to nap in the nude. Again. Made a change from aboard the Enterprise.

He put his polka dotted slippers on and exited the bathroom in his towel.

And found...in his room, a gathering of people-- looked like only Tulipians present, nobody in his landing party. Suddenly some music came on, on the record player. Jazz. A huge shindig. In his room. Where he was meant to be resting. What the actual fuck?

"HELLO!" Queen Tulip cooed at him. She was flanked by a gaggle of what appeared to be courtiers. In HIS hotel room. 

"What in blazes is this?" McCoy yelled out.

________________________  
on to next chaper


	7. Don't Hassle the Hof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Tulip stirs things up and things get even wierder. Spock convinces McCoy this is real, not a dream.

McCoy was only too aware how vulnerable he looked and felt, in nothing but his large terrycloth towel and polka dotted slippers, with all of these Tulipians, staring at him, in his goddamned "honeymoon suite" style, gaudy hotel room. 

"HELLO, MY DEAR!" Her Majesty, appeared resplendent in cheerful yellow this morning: Yellow wig, yellow gloves to the elbow, ankle length yellow sparkly dress, clunky yellow jewelry: Bracelet, and hoop earrings and necklace, along with yellow stiletto heels. And a huge diamond tiara. With dramatic make-up: Bright red lips, big eye shadow. It probably took several hours for her get all gussied up in the morning. Her courtiers were all dressed in the Earth Regency Style (lots of velvet in all colors, velvet pantaloons, velvet coats with tails, white lace collars, white stockings, pointy shoes). They wore powdered white wigs, and make-up for all genders. The courtiers all eyed him with haughty, judgmental expressions.

McCoy tried a different tactic, rather than yelling at them again: "Your Majesty, to what do I owe the pleasure--?" He stopped as there was too much ear splitting-ly loud music to talk over. McCoy glared over at the record player.

The queen clapped her hands several times. Her bracelets jingled when she did so. "Let Dr. McCoy speak!" she commanded. 

With a loud scratch, the music stopped, the record was yanked off the platter. McCoy arched his eyebrow at the offender before turning back to Her Majesty. The queen was certainly a bright beam of sunshine, a star of exuberance, that's for damned sure. He just wasn't...for god's sake, this morning, he just wasn't really fucking ready for it right now.

McCoy began again: "To what do I owe this pleasure... of your delightful visit?" he managed. 

The Queen suddenly dived into his personal space, enveloping him in a warm hug, her large bosoms pressing against his chest. He didn't reciprocate, but stood, numbly, hands by his side, as she crushed his body like a Venus Fly Trap would close around a fly. But she literally resembled a goddamned wasp or bumblebee. If he wasn't careful he'd get stung, bad. "I stopped by to see how you were doing, my dear!" she screeched out. "How are you doing? I was so terribly, terribly worried about you!" 

Goddamn, bad enough she had to try to suffocate him, did she also have to talk so fucking loud?

He finally realized he had been brought up with some kinda manners and slid his arms around her body, returning her embrace, it was the least he could do. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. His heart melted. She was a sweet lady, he had to admit. "Well, uh, thank you, Your Majesty. I'm doing just fine." 

"Oh good! All is well!" She released him, stepped back. "My goodness, your chest, it's very sexy! Manly, am I right?" She looked at her courtiers. They nodded. "He does have some ample chest hair!" She reached over and took advantage, rubbing his bare pectoral region, his body jerked at the intimate contact. "You belong on the cover of a magazine. Perhaps that can be arranged."

He blushed. "Oh. Thanks."

"I heard you need something to wear, my dear," the queen said. "Should I have my team of valets supply--?"

McCoy shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no! I have plenty to wear, Your Majesty. Already being taken care of."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! The captain is already taking care of the issue." McCoy gave his best, widest, toothy smile.

"Well, okay. Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Oh. Where's Mr. Spock?" the Queen asked. "I thought he would be here as well."

McCoy cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure he's uh...busy. And listen, Your Majesty, about Mr. Spock. Look, there's some kind of misunderstanding that I wanted to...I really need to clear up. You and the uh....media, you've got me and Spock all wrong. The media on the TV... uh....Listen the truth is, Spock and I, we aren't--"

"Drinks! Time for drinks, drinks, drinks!" the Queen clapped her hands. A snooty servant had appeared with a silver tray, containing a pair of large green colored cocktails in massive martini glasses, with umbrellas. "Take one! Drink!"

McCoy reluctantly took the oversized glass. "Uh...don't you think it's a little early for....a cocktail?" Plus after last night and early this morning, he didn't need that kind of nonsense to happen again.

"Nonsense!" Her Majesty, the flighty bumblebee, took the other glass from the tray, clinked hers against his, then took a sip. "HMMMMMMM! Delicious! Try it!" The courtier walked off with his tray.

McCoy glanced over at the local Tulipian time flashing in red (like a danger klaxon) on the television screen: Too damned early for this. "Well gee, I uh...I think it's five o'clock somewhere," he said. With her watching, the royal peer pressure, and him unable to refuse without risking offense to her he gave up the fight. She eyed him as he took the tiniest sip ever of the lime green mystery drink. "Mmmmm, yes, Your Majesty, it is good, thank you." 

"Fruity!"

"Very fruity," McCoy replied. "Pinapple." And tasted very heavy on the alcohol. He'd have to watch out.

"Festive!"

"Very festive." 

"Well, if you don't like that one, maybe you want a traditional morning drink? How about a nice Bloody Mary? Hangover cure." She snapped her fingers at the courtier. "BLOODY MARY!"

"No!" McCoy yelled out. "No, thanks, Your Majesty. I'm fine. Ma'am. This is fine." He took another, very tiny sip of the very sweet drink, felt like he should be on some kinda pleasure cruise or something. "Listen, Your Majesty, I really need to talk to you."

"Oh, about what?"

"I'm not quite sure what's going on here on this planet. Maybe you could explain....Well, It's about the media, the television folks and some of your, uh, the people. They are claiming that I am...a well known, public figure. I mean, uh...." He chuckled. "I'm only a physician on a starship. I'm not famous. Just an old country doctor."

"Hmmm. Perhaps I should have warned you."

McCoy gave out an exasperated laugh. "Well, It's a little unexpected, Your Majesty. You understand that it has taken me by surprise. I mean they even showed video of me nude on the news, not in my best light, quite frankly, and don't you think that is a little creepy?"

"You're our celebrity."

McCoy took another sip of the cocktail. "Yes, uh, I see that, and uh....Why?"

"We love you."

"Thank you, I see that, but uh. Why me?"

"Because! You're Dr. McCoy! Why not?" 

"I don't deserve this kind of VIP treatment."

"Oh, I think you do."

McCoy set the rest of his fruity drink down on the nearest table, behind him. "Look, Your Majesty. Let me put it this way. I'm sure you have the same issue, being the queen of Tulip II. Everybody trying to get at you, all the adoration, heroine worship, you're world famous. So, think of how annoying it must be for you."

"What? I love the attention! And so should you!"

"But you're the queen, you for one, deserve adoration. I'm just....I don't understand, why me?"

"You will," she said, almost ominously.

He gave up, deflated. He was getting nowhere with this larger than life lady. "Uh...." McCoy gave up, picked up his drink again, took another sip and wished the captain would show up right about now, dammit. This planet and everybody who lived on this ball of euphoria made him feel so unsettled.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Oh no, please no. Not more Tulipians arriving to party. Please dear lord, no.

One of the queen's courtiers opened the door. 

It was Mr. Spock, carrying his own silver tray. That was a relief. McCoy couldn't see what was on the first officer's tray, precisely, from his vantage point. The Vulcan was also now wearing some kind of bizarre knitted multicolored sweater over his black undershirt. Where in the hell did he get that thing? Spock still retained his black uniform pants and boots, however. As the Vulcan entered the room, looking around at the assembled, Queen Tulip's courtier closed the door behind him. The first officer set his tray down. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, Doctor. I was not aware you were in a meeting."

"Mister Spock! PLEASE! Join us!" the queen beckoned him over. "Come here, my darling. Let me look at you." 

Spock approached the queen as if he was circling an Earth piranha fish. "Good morning, Your Majesty." 

The queen leaned in and kissed the first officer on the cheek. McCoy set his drink down again, on the table behind him, and coughed into his hand. He could tell Spock did not know how to process the queen's physical affection. He had to say, he felt protective of the Vulcan on his behalf.

"I was just having a little morning chat with your husband-to-be," the queen said. "Seeing how he was doing, after his little, bitty accident."

"Husband-to-be. I see." Spock grimaced at that. "Well, Your Majesty, Doctor, I shall leave you to your meeting."

"Oh no, please! Stay! It's your hotel room, too!," the queen said. She turned, snapped her fingers at her courtiers. "A drink for Mr. Spock!"

"Actually, no, thank you," Spock said, "Your Majesty, I do not desire a--" But the servant had already appeared at Spock's side with another lime green drink. He stood there tapping his foot at Spock, looked very annoyed. Spock stared at the courtier in the bizarre outfit. "Is it not too early for imbibing in alcohol? It is only...." Spock leaned over to look at the digital clock.

"Oh ten hundred local time," McCoy said. 

"Really."

"Just take the drink, Spock," McCoy whispered. 

Spock sighed as he scooped up the glass by the stem. The haughty courtier sauntered off.

The queen held up her own drink. "A toast to Doctor McCoy and Mr. Spock's engagement! CHEERS!" She clinked their glasses again. "We must discuss wedding plans!"

Spock looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole as he stood holding his 'festive' drink.

McCoy decided to take the bull by the reins, get them the hell out of this. "Actually, Your Majesty, Spock and I are not engaged to be married. Your sources have that wrong."

"Oh, is that fake news?" the queen asked.

"Very fake."

"Oh, I see. A shame. I should have the media issue a retraction." 

"Please do."

"Of course." The queen turned her head. "ISSUE A RETRACTION, BOB!" in a weird voice, to one of her courtiers, and McCoy immediately was struck by the similarity to Miss Piggy of the Muppets. He shook the thought away. 

"Aren't you going to taste your drink, Mr. Spock?" the queen asked, or rather demanded. "It's delicious!"

"I..." Spock stammered. "I do not normally...." The first officer finally caved, took a sip of the festive drink, looked at it, raised an eyebrow. He then had another much longer taste of the concoction until McCoy pulled the glass out of his hand. 

"Excuse me," McCoy said, setting down Spock's glass. "As Mr. Spock's physician, I can't allow him to consume alcohol. It's not good for his system."

"It's not?" the queen asked, pouting, her severe lipstick going into a very exaggerated scowl, like one of those theatre masks.

"No, Your Majesty."

"Oh, I am sorry."

"Your Majesty," Spock began, "to take this one step further. You are mistaken. Not only are the Doctor and I, not formally engaged to be married, we are not--"

"Not at that point yet," McCoy interrupted. He turned, faced the Vulcan. As he got close to the first officer, who looked like he was in shock--McCoy spotted the lipstick print on Spock's cheek from the queen. He grabbed onto the Vulcan's hands, then released one hand, reached up and wiped the lipstick off of his face, then grasped the Vulcan's hand again. He gave both slim warm hands a small squeeze. He stared into the Vulcan's eyes and smirked. "To be honest, Your Majesty, things have been so hectic, Spock and I haven't had enough time alone together to get that far." 

"So, I'm pestering you two! Oh dear!" She put a hand to her face. 

Spock gulped, his only reaction. McCoy could see his Adam's apple move. "Evidentally," Spock told her.

"Big sexy bed, put to such little use, besides sleeping. It's illogical, Mr. Spock." McCoy let his eyes and his voice openly flirt, laid the sultriness on thick. "Right Baby?" McCoy licked his lips.

Spock hesitated a beat before he said: "Apparently."

McCoy let his thumbs caress the top of Spock's hands. Filled with some kind of deviousness, he moved closer, making like he was about to kiss the first--

"Alright, darlings! We're leaving!" Queen Tulip called out. "Let Dr. McCoy and his lover have some well earned time alone!"

McCoy continued to hold onto the Vulcan's hands as the queen and the long succession of Tulipian courtiers trailing behind her exited the hotel room. He waited until they were all gone, then he chuckled evilly.

"Dr. McCoy, I have come to believe that you are not a very nice person," Spock informed him.

"You know Mr. Spock, that's the most sarcastic thing you've ever said to me. I think you're spending too much time around Jim. I really do." They didn't release hands, however and McCoy became aware again that he was wearing nothing but a towel and slippers, holding hands. "Hey, Spock?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"You wanna be my boyfriend? Might as well." 

Spock immediately yanked his hands out of McCoy's grasp. "I will not dignify that with an answer."

McCoy gave out a hearty laugh as he walked away from the Vulcan. He went over to the heart shaped bed and noticed something: "Hey, Mr. Spock, look." He pointed.

The bed was now completely covered in red, fragrant rose petals. They were real, too. 

"What is that for?" Spock wondered as he investigated.

"They are really trying so hard," McCoy said. 

"What is their purpose?"

McCoy sat down on the bed, in the middle of all of the petals, fixed his towel so that he wouldn't flash the first officer. The petals smelled good, at least. "Nothing, Spock. It's stupid, that's what it is."

"The rose petals on a bed must have some kind of cultural significance to you, I can see by your reaction, what does it mean?"

"Nothing. It's dumb. Forget it."

"This tradition, must mean something."

"Look it up, if you care so fucking much, Mr. Spock!"

Spock sighed. Folded his arms.

McCoy calmed down, noticed the pot sitting on the tray Spock had carried in, steam rising up from the lid. "Is this coffee you brought me?" He coughed into his hand.

"Indeed." Spock stood by and observed, as McCoy poured the coffee for himself into the cup, then discovered several multicolored couple sugar cubes, dropped a couple or three of those in. 

"Oh goodness. Thank you." McCoy coughed again, harder this time, then it turned into hacking coughs.

"Are you alright, Dr. McCoy?"

It took awhile for him to quit coughing. "I'm fine, I'm fine." 

Somehow Spock had gotten the type II scanner out of the black bag and started scanning. He studied the read-out. "Hmmm."

McCoy grabbed the device away from him. “Give me that.”

"You will wind up seriously ill, if you do not look after yourself."

"Shut up." McCoy set down the scanner, reached over picked up his coffee, took a sip of the delicious, real coffee. "Where's Jim?"

"I left the captain in the gift shop."

"There's a gift shop?"

"There is."

"Do they take real money?"

"Some kind of digital credit system."

"Any word on if we can get out of here?"

"None."

"You need to work on him."

"I will."

McCoy yawned as he drank more, delicious, orgasmic coffee with the multicolored sugar cubes. Damn. That's one thing good about this place.

"Perhaps you should take a nap," Spock told him.

"Leave me alone," McCoy said. "Sit down, will ya? You're making me nervous. Watching me like that." Spock hesitated, then with his fingers he raked over some of the rose petals so that he would not sit directly on them, then obediently sat in a very stiff pose.

"Why did you allow the queen to believe that we are a romantic couple?" Spock asked.

"I'm sorry," McCoy said, unable to avoid the rush of a giggle, "it's just such an utterly ridiculous notion, nothing is going to convince her otherwise. She's going to believe what she wants. So, I felt it might be advantageous if we played along with her delusions."

"I see." 

"It's not like we're going to be here that long. As soon as Jim declares shore leave, I'm outta here."

"Likewise."

"Mr. Spock?"

"Yes?"

"With all seriousness, I need some confirmation. Are you absolutely certain, beyond a doubt, that I'm awake? You know for a fact, that I'm really sitting here, talking to you? This planet, this whole thing, doesn't quite ring true to me. Something's wrong."

"Like what?"

"It's just a feeling I have, a hunch."

"I have spent enough time around you and Jim to know that when you both feel that something is not right, you usually are correct. Your 'intuition', as you call it. However, I think you are needlessly concerned. I am also perceiving this planet as it is being presented."

"Are you absolutely positive? I thought maybe I'm actually under some kind of anesthesia, or I'm uh....you know."

"Doctor, have I ever lied to you?"

"No, you haven't."

"Do you trust me?"

"Implicitly."

"Therefore, Doctor, please believe me, when I tell you: This is real. This planet is real, this is not a dream, you are not currently under the influence, you are not under anesthesia, this is not a figment of your imagination. The captain is real, the landing party is real. Tulip II is real. The queen is real. I am real." 

"So I'm just being paranoid."

"I did not want to say."

McCoy took another sip of his coffee. "Alright. Thank you. I appreciate it. Have you taken any samples yet?" 

"I have been waiting for you," Spock said. 

"Oh, that's so kind of you, Mr. Spock." McCoy found himself flirting again. "I didn't know you cared. Are you sure you don't want to be my boyfriend?"

Spock sighed, as there was a knock on the door. Spock got up to open it, inadvertently knocking off a couple rose petals to the floor. It was Jim, holding a very large shopping bag with handles. "You look like a hot mess, Doctor!" Jim told him. 

"Good morning to you too, Captain."

“Seriously, you look like something the cat drug in, Bones. Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yes! I'm fine! We can’t all strut around as stunningly beautiful as yourself, Jim.” McCoy coughed again then got up from his bed, grabbed his medical bag from the nightstand. He dropped the scanner inside, then carried the whole thing into the bathroom. He took the scanner out of his bag, scanned his lungs, looked at the readout: _Goddammit._ He dug out a hypospray, loaded a vial into it, checked the dosage, set it, looked at it again, then once more. He shot himself in the wrist, put everything back in the bag. He came back to where Jim and Spock were, tossed his bag onto the nightstand.

Jim was studying the bed. "Rose petals? Is that for you and...?" He motioned.

In a fit of pique, McCoy reached over, brushed off a bunch of petals into the air. They slowly scattered everywhere on the floor. 

"That's real mature, Bones." 

"Rose petals, Jim," McCoy said. He grabbed another pile, threw them at the captain. "Rose petals." 

"Rosebud," Jim said.

"That is a sleigh," Spock said. 

"Did you hear that, Jim? Spock watches old movies," McCoy said. He grabbed another pile of rose petals, threw them at the first officer "I christen you, Sir Loin of Vulcan." 

"What is the significance of decorating a bed with rose petals?" Spock asked the captain.

"Uh, nothing, just a weird Tulipian custom, no doubt," Kirk told him. "Listen, you two, we've been invited by Her Majesty--” McCoy didn't catch the rest of it as he got up and walked away again to the bathroom. Or maybe Jim stopped talking, he didn't know.

McCoy came back with a glass of water. “What’s that, Captain?”

“You haven’t heard me this whole time?”

“I was in the bathroom.” McCoy reached into his medical bag again, got out a bottle of pills.

“We have been invited to champagne brunch with Her Majesty Queen Tulip,” Jim informed him.

Spock made a groaning noise as McCoy hissed out: "Great."

"What's gotten into you, Bones? Normally you like being planet-side instead of enclosed by bulkhead. The Enterprise is like living in a sardine can, you said.”

McCoy opened up the bottle of pills, popped one into his mouth. “I never said that.”

“What meds are you taking?” Jim wondered.

“Aspirin. That okay with you? Been a rough mission, so far.”

“Listen, Bones. A hearty champagne brunch will do me some good.”

“Champagne? At this hour? Ugh."

Jim looked at the tray with the pot of coffee, McCoy's cup. "At least the coffee's good. Anyway, I brought you something, let's go into the bathroom where the light's better." Jim picked up the shopping bag as McCoy followed him over. The captain paused by the two oversized booze glasses on the table next to the bathroom. "Where'd that come from?"

"Her majesty stopped by. Trying to get me and Mr. Spock drunk."

"This early? Why?"

"You know what I think, Jim? I think she hopes our defenses will be lowered. We'll do something we regret, so she's got some kind of gossip fodder for the television programs." McCoy entered the bathroom, with Jim, they didn't bother shutting the door, with just Spock in the other room. "Alright, what'd you get me?"

Jim looked at him a moment, then reached over, wiped McCoy's cheek. "Who kissed you?"

"Guess?"

Kirk opened the bag. "Okay, I hope you're ready for this." He pulled out two button up shirts. Both 'Hawaiian style', vacation shirts. One had multicolored cats on it, the other had multicolored balloons. 

"My god, they're both awful."

"Spock picked out this one." Jim indicated the shirt with the cats on it. 

McCoy grabbed that one. 

"Here's some pants to wear, a pair of underwear and socks and uh...." Jim said. "These." He handed over the shoes.

McCoy looked at them. "You got me fucking neon green Crocs."

Jim laughed. "Put em on."

"Fuck no, I'm going barefoot before I wear those."

"You're putting them on. With socks." Jim handed him some rainbow knee-high socks.

"You're having a great time making me look ridiculous, you know that?"

"It's the hight of fashion, Bones." Jim giggled. McCoy scoffed, then dropped his towel, stepped out of his slippers, and donned the rainbow underwear, socks, the white pants, the shirt with cats on it, and finally the goddamned Crocs. 

He checked himself in the full length bathroom mirror. He buttoned the shirt, leaving the top two undone, since the queen liked his hairy chest so much, he figured he'd give her a little thrill. 

He exited the bathroom, with the captain in tow. "What do you think of his Tulipian vacation look, Spock?" Kirk asked.

Spock stared for a few moments, then shook his head. "Doctor." 

"Yeah?"

"Are you wearing rainbow shorts, underneath?"

"Why yes I am, Mr. Spock, why do you ask."

"They are visible through the white fabric of your trousers."

Jim was hysterical by this point. 

Suddenly there was a knock on McCoy’s door. Jim opened it. Yeoman Rand and Lieutenant Uhura along with Mr. O'Neil came strolling in. “Good morning, Dr. McCoy!” they yelled out.

“Oh Jesus.” McCoy winced. “Do you have to talk so goddamned loud?”

Uhura and Rand halted short for a brief moment at the sight of him. "That's an interesting outfit," Uhura said.

"Kinda cute," Rand said. "Oooooh look at the rose petals! Smell that!" She inhaled deeply. "Gorgeous! Oh my god, look at the bed!"

"It's heart shaped!" Uhura said. "Oh my goodness!"

"LUCKY!" Uhura and Rand both said.

“Dr. McCoy bagged the honeymoon suite,” Jim told them.

“That’s so not fair,” Yeoman Rand said.

“Who said life was fair, Yeoman?” McCoy replied.

"Can I have a few petals, Doc?" Uhura asked.

"You can have all of them!"

Uhura and Rand were now sitting on the heart shaped bed, chatting excitedly about the rose petals and the decor. Mr. O'Neil awkwardly hung out by the door. “Excuse me, Ladies and Gentlemen!" Kirk said. "Are we ready to leave? I’m looking forward to some more of the Tulipian hospitality and quite frankly I’m starving.”

“Captain, I respectfully request to beam back to the Enterprise,” Spock said. “Along with Dr. McCoy.”

“Request denied.”

McCoy made the second attempt: “Captain, the first officer and I,” he glanced at the Vulcan, “do not make this request lightly. We need to beam back to the Enterprise, sir,” McCoy said. “I’m sure Spock’s got a ton of work to do, don’t you Spock.”

“I do.”

“And frankly, Jim, maybe you're right. I’m not feeling too—”

“Are you experiencing a serious medical emergency?” Kirk asked.

“Well—”

“You’re fine. Physician heal thyself. All of us are having brunch together, you got that? That’s an order.”

“What is this?” Yeoman Rand suddenly said. She held up a rainbow colored canvas bag.

“Where’d you find that?” McCoy asked, then froze.

"Over there, on the other table."

McCoy practically lunged over, grabbed it away from her.

“What’s the matter, Bones?” Jim said.

“Nothing.” He looked at it in his hands. Why'd he suddenly get a feeling of deja vu?

Jim snatched the bag away from McCoy, opened it, pulled out a generous amount of rainbow colored condoms and a large bottle of sexual lubricant. “Holy shit,” Jim said. There was a snicker from Uhura and Rand.

“That’s not mine," McCoy said. "I never saw it before now.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jim said. He set it on the bedside table, next to McCoy's phaser, tricorder and medical bag. "I'll put it here with your essentials."

“Looks like he really is in the honeymoon suite,” Lieutenant Uhura said.

“Blast it!” McCoy huffed. "Can we get going if we're going? Huh?"

“Are you gonna fix your hair, Bones?”

“Nope,” McCoy said. “I’m leavin’ it like this, under protest.”

“He looks cute like that,” Yeoman Rand said.

“I look cute like this,” McCoy repeated.

“Right, sure he does,” Jim said. “Alright, alright, we’ve all harassed the good doctor quite enough this morning. Let’s go everyone.”

*

Queen Tulip's personal car had picked up the landing party: Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, McCoy, Lieutenant Uhura, Yeoman Rand and Mr. O'Neil. Their mode of transport was a land vehicle, a 'car', more specifically a long, neon green Caddilac limosine (the color matched his Croc's), with black and white polka dotted faux fur on the interior, like what a 'pimp' might have had on Earth in the 20th century. McCoy wondered if they should have dressed up in crazy suits and hats but he supposed he shouldn't give the queen any ideas. He was already ridiculously attired, (along with Spock wearing that stupid sweater) compared to the rest of the landing party still in uniform.

Jim kept referring to the limo as a 'Caddy'. Maybe they have a lot of these types of cars in Iowa.

In fact all of the cars on the road had rubber tires and were all neon colored Earth antique or antique like vehicles: Bright neon blue, red, pink, white, bright yellow, orange. Looked like Chevrolets, old Fords, old classics like that. They were now traveling down, or barreling down, some kind of motorway, (or 'freeway', as they called them in San Francisco on Earth). They exited the freeway, and drove down a huge boulevard. All the cars drove ridiculously fast, screeching around corners. It was wierd riding in a vehicle with real rubber tires on, feeling the jolts as it hit potholes, instead the smooth ride of an Earth hover car. He had had one of these things: A real gasoline car with real Goodyear tires, back on Earth, a silver Mustang from 1967. An antique. Gas was hard to get, and expensive. He could afford it in those days, could afford a classic car. Before he'd wrapped it around a tree.

The 'Caddy' rounded another turn. Where in the hell where they being taken to? He felt like he was holding on for dear life. He glanced over at Spock who looked positively green. (At least he also matched McCoy's shoes). 

"Want some dramamine, Spock?" McCoy felt motivated to offer. The Vulcan shook his head.

McCoy glanced out of the window of the Caddy and spotted (at a red traffic light), a throng of very beautiful humanoids, waiting on the street corner. They looked just as excited to see him as he was to spot them. My god, they looked like models. He found himself waving at them, and they rushed the Caddy before the light turned green and the they drove off.

They arrived at some nightclub style restaurant in the middle of this odd, bustling city. They rolled into a special parking area, then pulled around back of the restaurant. It seemed they were going through a 'special entrance'. 

When they got out of the car, however, there was a throng waiting: What looked like press cameras, reporters, and other Tulipians cheering, maybe wanting autographs. Whoever they were, there was a whole bunch of 'em.

"That for you, Bones?" Kirk wondered. McCoy shrugged. 

Inside the restaurant, they were greeted by none other than Queen Tulip herself. She was now dressed in a silver gown, with a yellow boa and red gloves, a multicolored wig and the tiara. How had she changed outfits so fast? The landing party was seated at a large table. McCoy and Spock were seated together, with the Queen on McCoy's other side, Jim on the other side of Spock.

The restaurant itself was crowded with all kinds of visiting dignitaries who’d each stopped by their table to give their regards. All of them looking very beautiful. Each one stared at McCoy with strange adoring, worshiping looks on their faces. 

Queen Tulip and the captain yelled across the table at each other to chat about various polite things, they seemed to get along very well.

Hostesses wearing nothing but feathers, handed the entire landing party tall glasses of pink champagne. Uhura, Rand and O'Neil drank theirs, McCoy, Spock and the captain abstained. Jim and McCoy asked for coffee.

McCoy barely touched his bacon and eggs and buttered toast. Just sipped on the coffee.

Spock bit into a fluffy butter croissant, making a loud crunch. McCoy took another sip from his flowery coffee cup, which kept getting refilled by attractive male waiters wearing absolutely nothing at all but rainbow aprons. Lots of bare asses on display. Rand and Uhura kept turning around to stare. McCoy met their eyes, and smirked. Rand and Uhura laughed sheepishly. McCoy turned around to see Spock looking askance at him, who then rolled his eyes and turned away. 

“Smile for the photographer!” Queen Tulip said to McCoy. There was a flashbulb in his face, blinding him for a second.

“What was that for?” McCoy asked.

“The magazine article.”

“The what?”

“Are you Dr. alright, Dr. McCoy?” Queen Tulip asked the captain. “You seem rather down.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine. Absolutely fine, right Bones?” Jim called over.

McCoy grabbed his glass of champagne, drank half of it. “Yeah, I'm fine.” He eventually polished off the rest of his. "May I?" he asked the Vulcan.

"Please."

McCoy grabbed Spock's champagne, drank that too.

Queen Tulip reached over, put her hands on McCoy’s shoulders, massaging them. Her touch and the pressure from her hands felt good. However, something about her touching him still made him feel uncomfortable. However he couldn’t very well shrug her off, it might offend her enough to not want to join the Federation. Diplomacy still had to overrule his personal feelings. 

The queen said to Kirk: “We know Dr. McCoy here grew up on the Georgia shore in the USA on Earth. On Tulip II our well renowned beaches are balmy and fun, just like yours. However ours are more colorful. Captain, I would like to extend an invitation to you and your crew. A beach party this afternoon on Tulip II. How does that sound? Wonderful? I knew it would be.” She kissed McCoy on the cheek. He blushed, yet again.

“Uh, Your Majesty,” the captain said.

“Yes dear?” Queen Tulip said.

“How did you know where Dr. McCoy grew up?”

“Oh, well, that. I suppose I’d better explain. Shouldn’t I.”

“Yes, please do,” Jim said.

“Well, uh, Dr. Leonard McCoy. He uh….is our celebrity. Right, Doctor?” She patted his shoulder.

“I see,” Jim prompted. “I saw him on the news.” There was a shocked murmur from Rand and Uhura who obviously hadn't been watching the TV in their respective rooms.

“We know everything about him,” the queen told the captain as she continued to massage McCoy's shoulders.

“How?”

“We’ve interviewed his family, for the article.”

McCoy’s mouth dropped open. “You met with them in person?”

“Oh no, no, no, darling. Earth is so very far away. We spoke on long range transmission.”

“How did you locate them?”

“Oh easy enough.”

“My family spilled the beans on me, huh? Who in my family specifically did you interview?”

“Your mother, your sister and your ex-wife.”

McCoy sputtered, coughed into his hand. “My mother, my sister AND my ex-wife?”

“You okay, Bones?” Jim called over.

“I don't know.”

Kirk said: “Your majesty, please understand, we uh, this is a huge invasion of privacy. This is a little disconcerting for our Chief Medical Officer—”

“A little?” McCoy added.

“—and ourselves. Why exactly do you find Dr. McCoy so….” Jim motioned. “Fascinating?”

“We just do. We love Dr. McCoy!” the queen pinched McCoy’s cheek. “And if you don’t mind, Doctor, we have a presser after the brunch, if you’ll be kind enough to pose for our paparazzi. They’ve been dying to take pics of you. We’ve been keeping them at bay. Along with your millions of fans.”

“My what?”

“And if you wouldn’t mind saying a few words to our Tulip-Vision reporters, for broadcast. Just a quick interview,” the queen added. “Nothing to worry about. It will be great fun!”

“Saying a few words, like what kind of words?” McCoy asked.

“Just how much you enjoy visiting our humble planet, that’s all.”

“Well, uh. I don’t know.”

“Come on, Bones,” Jim said through clenched teeth. “It’ll be fun.”

“This doesn’t sound like fun to me, Jim.”

Jim got up from his seat, walked over behind McCoy, patted him on the shoulder. “Bones. Bones. Your Majesty, Dr. McCoy would be happy to comply.”

Queen Tulip finally stopped massaging him. “Excellent! Then afterwards you’ll all attend our beach party and the Luau!”

“The what?” Jim said.

“The Luau, after the beach party.”

“You guys sure like to have fun,” the captain noted.

“Of course, we must celebrate Dr. McCoy's visit to our planet!” Queen Tulip said.

“I know, but—”

“So I’ll be expecting you!” Queen Tulip pinched McCoy’s cheek again. “Isn’t he a cutie?” She got up from her chair and sauntered off.

McCoy grimaced in her wake. “Jim,” he whispered as the captain leaned down to listen. “This is…nuts. Please, can we get out of here?”

“They sure know a lot about you. It’s possible they did contact your mom and sister and your ex.”

“I’m afraid, Jim. I’m very afraid. What the hell?”

“It’s kinda neat, Bones. I wish it was me. Hey Bones, remember that actor from the twentieth century, David Hasselhoff? Wasn’t he on ‘Baywatch’ in the USA but a recording pop star in Germany or something?”

“Yeah, because this is exactly the same situation, Jim. Really it is.” McCoy scowled. “Listen, Jim, this is serious, I’m not some goddamned celebrity, Jim. Famous? For what? I’m a doctor not a movie star.”

“Maybe your mom bragged to them how you save lives on a regular basis, or how you develop cures and antidotes by the seat of your pants. Maybe your ex bragged about good you were in bed.”

Out of the corner of his eye, McCoy spotted the first officer react to that.

“Dammit, Jim!" McCoy whispered. "My sex life or the lack of-- and my pants have nothing to do with this. It’s nobody’s goddamned business, anyhow! Any success with my scientific career comes after many hours of testing and trial and error and sometimes pure dumb luck. Please, Jim, this planet is crazy. Let me go back to the ship.”

“No.”

Spock leaned over. “Captain, once again, I also request to beam up to the ship.”

“Request denied.”

“Captain,” McCoy said. “I’m going to enter into my medical log about all of this nonsense. You, sir, will be required to answer in your own log.”

“That’s fine.”

“Please Jim,” McCoy begged. “This is embarrassing. This is humiliating. You don’t need my presence here. You sure as hell don’t need Spock.”

“What if something happens to our landing party? You are integral.”

“Dr. Sanchez or Dr. M’Benga can take my place or even Nurse Chapel. This is a job for diplomats and starship captains, not men of science!”

“Request denied. Alright, both of you, suck it up. Live a little. A friendly planet like this is refreshing. Bones, you’re normally a hedonist. This place should be right up your alley.”

“I’m no longer a hedonist. I’ve changed my ways, Jim.”

“So your ex-wife opened her big mouth. You two are on good terms, right?”

“Not really, no. What about my mother and sister? They’re both gossips!”

“Stop freaking out, Bones, I'm sure it's not as bad as you're making it out to be.”

“It's worse! Fans? Am I going to get mobbed if I dare go outside? I’m not feeling it, today, Jim. Not at all.”

Jim pointed to McCoy’s untouched bacon and eggs. “Are you gonna eat that?”

*

As the brunch wore on, now with some kind of nightclub act playing, and Jim ate his weight of food, McCoy wondered if would have been better to have suffered a psychotic breakdown, because then he’d have a legitimate medical emergency and he could beam up to the Enterprise immediately. This was excruciating. He deliberated physically injuring himself. It seemed Spock was in a hurry to get off this planet too, maybe they could conspire. Yeah, Spock could sprain his ankle.

A young bespectacled male assistant wearing a rainbow colored velvet suit, black trousers and carrying a very official looking clip board approached McCoy. “Hi! I’m Johnny!” He looked very hip, cool, attractive.

McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Hello, Johnny.”

“I’m here to escort you to your dressing room before the presser. If you're finished eating, we can leave right now."

"Well, I uh...."

"Oh excellent!"

McCoy took a huge gulp of champagne, polishing off the rest of Spock's glass. 

"Honestly, it is such an honor to meet you.” Johnny shook McCoy’s hand for several seconds.

“Uh, thanks. Did you say, dressing room?” McCoy asked. “I thought I was just going to do a little interview for some news agency.”

“Oh, you’ve never been to a press event?”

“So what does that entail?”

“Just a few reporters. Nothing big. Lots of fun!”

“Yeah, so everybody keeps telling me.” McCoy glanced over at the rest of the landing party, still at the table, who all seemed a great deal more excited about this all than he was (besides Spock). “May my friends accompany me?”

“It’s a tiny dressing room, really, really tiny. So uh, it won’t fit your entire entourage. I’m sorry. It would be much better that you bring along only one person. Your partner.”

“I see,” Kirk said, with obvious disappointment. “Then Mr. Spock shall accompany Dr. McCoy.”

“My entourage?” McCoy asked. "And I sure as hell don't have a partner."

"If you're ready, right this way, Dr. McCoy. Please, follow me!" Johnny said, with his fucking clipboard. "And of course, Mr. Spock. Please. Right this way, if you don't mind."

Reluctantly, McCoy got up from the table. Spock also got up, joined McCoy. McCoy looked at Spock. He felt as terrified as Spock looked.

"After you, Dr. McCoy," Spock said, waving his hand. Dammit, Spock was going to be no help at all. He had to get out of this situation.

“Alright, then! We’ll be right here, waiting. Looking at the monitors!” Jim called back, waving, flanked by Rand, Uhura and Mr. O'Neil, the security guard. All of them looked downright dejected. “Maybe you can grab some snacks for the rest of us!”

“Hey Jim, don’t hassle the Hoff!” McCoy yelled back.

______________  


On to the next chapter...


	8. We're Just Good Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy and Spock unwillingly participate in a Tulipian press conference, pose for press photographs and something happens between the two of them.

The sumptuous 'green room' for this Tulipian press event wasn’t so small after all and could have fit the rest of the landing party in here. It was as if the rest of them had been deliberately excluded. McCoy wanted to know why. 

However, it was still very crowded. There was music piped in: 'Summertime' from 'Porgy and Bess', a 20th century Earth Broadway musical, accompanying the flurry of activity around them. Everybody looked like they were having a great time-- besides himself and Spock, of course. There looked to be all kinds of hip, very attractive looking Tulipians dressed in old Earth inspired mid to late 1960's style rainbow sequins fashions and white go-go boots. There appeared to be some kind of a party in here, but McCoy couldn’t figure out what the hell everybody was celebrating. 

To reach this venue for the press conference itself had involved another hour long drive, in a different stretch limousine, away from the restaurant/nightclub where the brunch had been. McCoy felt his hip for his communicator, to make sure it was available, just in case.

He sat-- feeling ridiculous in his Hawaiian style shirt with the rainbow cats on it, his white leisure trousers, his lime green Crocs-- on a red velvet couch with Spock, the Vulcan still wearing that stupid sweater, eyeing the activity around them, feeling as uncomfortable, out of place, and impatient as Spock looked. Besides himself and Spock, and maybe Johnny, the young official with the clipboard who'd led them here, he recognized no one. With all the action going on, the atmosphere, it seemed no real work was actually being done. Tulipians seemed to move on their own time: Party Time.

"I wish they'd get on with this press conference," he hissed to Spock. "I wanna get out of here."

"Indeed."

A woman with a teased out silver wig and short red dress placed a huge platter filled with a rainbow dessert confection comprised of several multi-colored layers, in the shape of a fish (made from a dessert mold), on the coffee table in front of them. “Dig in!” she said. “It’s yummy! This is vegan Jello, sweethearts, just in case you swing that way.” She sauntered off.

“In case we swing that way,” McCoy muttered. “Wonderful." He also found it interesting the woman had called the dessert 'Jello' like what they called it in the USA on Earth.

A very hip Tulipian man who appeared to be a make-up artiste, came up next to McCoy and dabbed skin colored foundation make-up on his face. McCoy tried to turn his head away from him. “Please don’t move,” the man commanded. “Just testing your colors.” The man barked orders to a young assistant before they finally moved away. 

"He looked cool," McCoy whispered to Spock. "Bet you're sorry you were a nerd in school."

"A what?" Spock asked.

"Never mind," McCoy replied. "Just making conversation."

Another Tulipian came up, obviously a wardrobe assistant, laying a swatch of different colored fabrics next to McCoy's face. "Blue eyes, light brown hair," the man said, "with a slight orange undertone to the skin." Another assistant jotted this down in their clipboard. 

Then another, fussy looking Tulipian man with a dour expression came up, studied his face, then frowned at him, huffing to yet another assistant: "Oh dear, this will never do. He's in such terrible shape. We only have a few hours." 

McCoy pointedly ignored their insults as he sat with his arms folded on the sofa. Then it dawned on him what the Tulipian had said. He turned to Spock, mouthed: "A few hours?"

Spock shrugged. 

The assistant said to the dour, fussy, cranky Tulipian man: “Perhaps we should only powder him for the shine, no foundation.”

“No, he definately needs a foundation. We must make his numerous wrinkles a little less obvious.”

"I'm not wearing any make-up, y'all can forget it," McCoy grumbled. “Wrinkles? Hey, you try being a doctor aboard a starship. Wrinkles. What about Spock’s wrinkles?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I have no wrinkles.”

McCoy turned to Spock. “You have wrinkles right there, smile lines.”

"Impossible," Spock replied. "I never smile."

The grumpy, dour, fussy make-up artiste swiped a soft make-up brush across McCoy’s cheek. McCoy jerked his head back. “Oh, please do sit still, darling, would you," the man said.

“What are you doing to me?” McCoy asked.

“Just testing some blushers on your skin tone, that's all.”

“I don't know what the hell all y'all planning, but I've got news for you. I'm not wearing any make-up," McCoy informed him.

“Why not? You desperately need some make-up."

“Do I need make-up?” McCoy asked Spock.

"Only in the mornings," Spock said, deadpan.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" McCoy fumed.

A hostess wearing blue feathers and blue sequined panties walked up with a tray of pink champagne. She placed several glasses of the stuff right in front of them. "Here you go, honey! Enjoy!" She strode off and McCoy noted there was a lot of champagne, was that all for them?

"They're trying to get us inebriated again," McCoy told Spock. "It ain't going to work this time." 

"Maybe you should stop being such a brat and relax a little," the grumpy, dour, fussy make-up man said to McCoy.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you've been sitting here with your diva-like behavior, darling, and I must say it's just not on. Just not cool." 

"So I'm acting like a diva," McCoy said. 

"Paulle, no," said another make-up artist who'd come up to observe.

"No, it's alright." McCoy held up his hand. "Paulle, is it?" he said to the dour, fussy, grumpy make-up man. "Uh, Paulle, you might be the most honest local I've run into so far. Look, I don't mean all y'all any insult, I just want to hurry up and do this press conference so I can rejoin my shipmates."

"You have to wear make-up to this event," Paulle said, "otherwise the lights will simply wash you out on television. This press conference is very important to our people. Very important. You understand, don't you? I mean. Come on, only a fool wouldn't and you're a smart guy, aren't you."

"Alright," McCoy said, finding himself capitulating, endeared by this grouchy, blue-eyed, blonde man for some reason. "Then do what you will, to me."

"It won't hurt and you'll look fabulous," Paulle said, brightening up now. "Have a few glasses of champagne, dear. Eat some Jello. it's delicious. It'll make things better." Paulle walked off with his assistant and the other make-up artiste in tow.

"They're definately trying to get us wasted," McCoy hissed to Spock. "I suppose another glass of the bubbly stuff won't hurt." He grabbed the glass of champagne, had a few sips. At least the booze would act like an emollient for this press conference they were making him do. He noticed Spock reach over and grab his own champagne glass.

"Is it safe?" the first officer inquired.

McCoy pulled the type II scanner out of his pocket. Janice had his and Spock's tricorders but this thing could be calibrated for the molecular composition of fluids. Just took a couple adjustments. He completed them, then scanned. "It's just regular champagne."

"Is the champagne made of only fermented grapes?"

"Yeah and CO2, just like on Earth. Ever had champagne?"

"Negative."

"Well then, watch your consumption."

Spock studied the glass a moment. "Why is it pink?"

"Gets its color from the skin of the grape."

"Ah." Spock held the glass up to his mouth.

"Wait a minute." McCoy clinked his own glass to the first officer's. "Cheers. May we get through this with our dignity intact."

Spock raised an eyebrow. He took a sip, jerked his head back. "It has an interesting flavor. Quite strong." 

McCoy chuckled. "Their booze has a high alcohol content, that's for goddamned sure. Eat some Jello, balance out the alcohol. Be careful."

Spock nodded, but then looked around the table. McCoy realized the Vulcan was searching for an eating utensil.

"Hold on a moment, Spock, I gotcha." McCoy stood up from the couch. 

A Tulipian hostess immediately came to his side. "Something I can help you with, baby?"

McCoy smirked at the woman's use of 'baby' but said: "Uh, may I have a spoon, please?"

The Tulipian hostess produced one out of nowhere, probably had one in a pocket. "Here you go, sweetie!" 

"Thanks." McCoy sat back down. He handed the spoon over to the Vulcan. "We obviously want for nothing here."

"The amount of 'endearing pet names' used should put you at ease, Doctor," Spock remarked, taking the spoon from him. "Thank you." 

"Oddly enough, Mr. Spock, I find it creepy."

"Really. Now you know how the rest of the Enterprise crew feels," Spock said. 

"Our crew doesn't like me calling them 'sweetheart'? Bullshit," McCoy said. 

Spock shrugged back. He used the spoon to take a piece of the Jello, put it into his mouth, nodded at the taste. "Each layer has its own distinct flavor. Would you like some, darling? I mean--Doctor?"

"You're not funny. And, no thanks. I hate Jello. Lucky for you, it's vegan."

"What is the significance of vegan Jello?"

"That means it's not made of boiled bones."

Spock looked at the dessert in his spoon. "Jello is made of animal bones?"

"Not this stuff. Apparently. It's alright. Don't worry, baby." McCoy smirked at the first officer. "I won't let them feed you something they shouldn't." 

A pair of Tulipian women wearing nothing but rainbow feathers-- pasties barely covering the essential parts which made them look like a couple of showgirls from maybe Wrigley's Pleasure Planet, these Tulipians would like that place-- approached. One of the showgirls said: "Hi. Dr. McCoy. We're here to escort you to the make-up/wardrobe room." 

"Oh," McCoy said. He stood up. Each woman went on either side of him, grabbing hold of each his arms. "What about my associate, here, can he tag along?" The Vulcan sat on the sofa, looking back at him, appearing bemused at the sight of the women.

"No, he'll stay. He'll be alright," the other showgirl said. "We won't be long, sweetie."

"Fine," McCoy said, resignedly, trying to be on his best behavior now with these pushy Tulipians. "Hey Spock, Eat more of that delectable rainbow vegan Jello and relax. I hope I'll be back soon. If I don't return...." Spock nodded in understanding.

The showgirls (and they were really stunning) led him off, separating him from the only person he knew in this location. He turned, looked back at the Vulcan still marooned on the couch. 

*

He lay back in the make-up chair, eyes closed, completely relaxed as a large group of Tulipian make-up artists fussed over him. Putting god knows what on his face and hair. He gave up caring about a half hour ago. The sensations did feel pleasant, relaxing as they also brushed his hair, sprayed things on it, trimmed it a little with sissors, as they muttered comments/commands to each other. He knew he was going to eventually look as bizarre as them, but hey he and Jim would be able to laugh about this experience later. He just hoped Spock was alright as he even dozed off in the chair at one point. Feels like they even put mascara and eyeshadow on. He idly wondered if they intended on turning him into a drag queen, wouldn't that be something. At this point he didn't give a shit about that either.

One of them tapped his shoulder, waking him up from his stupor. "Huh?" he said

"All finished!" Paulle said, the Tulipian make-up artiste ever so pleased with himself. He held up a mirror to McCoy's face. "Tell me what you think, darling!" 

McCoy, expecting the worst, was a little reluctant to gaze at his own reflection but capitulated so not to disappoint the onlookers standing here grinning at him. He looked.

And hey, not bad. They didn't go overboard with the make-up, they merely highlighted his best features, reduced the obvious flaws. He had a thin layer of foundation on, blush to highlight his cheekbones, some mascara, eyeliner, silver eyeshadow, his hair was combed down, so that his bangs swept over his eyebrows. There was just a smidge of sparkle in his hair, but that was alright, wasn't overboard. He looked--

"Handsome, aren't you?" Paulle said. "Hell, I'd do you if you didn't have a boyfriend." 

"You would?" McCoy blushed, chuckled at that. Never had anybody tell him that outright, before. He'd have to be careful or maybe he'd have all these boys after him and he didn't need that stress right now. "Yeah. I look good. I don't know how that was possible, but you made me...."

"A hottie?"

McCoy chuckled. "I guess so."

"The hotness was already there, just dying to come out, darling. We had to tease it out of you. Now you're stunning. Are you ready for some looks?"

"Some what?"

"Some clothes, darling."

"Sure, I suppose so," McCoy said. 

Paulle lead him up and out of his chair and over to the wardrobe supervisor. "Take good care of him, Timon." 

"Oh, I will, Paulle!" Timon the wardrobe guy smirked and winked. 

McCoy glanced from Paulle to Timon and wondered if that was that some kind of signal? Huh?

"Hi, darling," Timon said.

"Please, call me 'Leonard'," McCoy said, tired of all of this 'darling' business.

"Ooh, we're on a first name basis, I'm honored, Lenny."

"You don't have to go that far. You said you have clothing for me?"

"Oh yes." Timon led him to a rack of clothes. "You try all of these on, and you chose which one you like best!" 

He could do that. At least they let him chose his own attire, he had some control over this. He took a hanger with an outfit on, and got on with things. Timon looked on, smiling.

But each outfit was even more gaudy than the last. He finally tried on some kind of itchy, uncomfortable velvet and tulle rainbow thing with a frilly lace collar and groaned when he looked in the mirror. "Listen, Timon, don't y'all have anything a little more...."

"Beautiful?"

"No, uh...don't you have something more subtle?" McCoy asked. "My personality is being swamped by these outfits. No offense. They're nice and everything but they're just not me."

"Oh look at you, Dr. McCoy, the most 'larger than life' person ever and you want something subtle." 

"Y'know, Timon, I'm really not larger than life. I'm just an ol' country doctor aboard my ship. I'm not really a...star."

Timon finally seemed to take pity on him. The young man dug into another adjacent clothing rack and pulled out an outfit. "This look got deleted, because it was so ghastly but you might like this. Try it on."

McCoy took the hanger with the outfit on it into the changing cubicle again, tried it on, then came out where all of the mirrors and the wardrobe assistants were.

The ensemble was comprised of a velvet, paisley print, maroon colored suit, cut perfectly. (Of course they had his measurements, he didn't know how, but they obviously had gotten them, or guessed at them.) Along with a white tuxedo shirt with silvertone buttons and a matching velvet paisley bow tie. "I like this one," he told Timon.

"Oh dear, no, it's atrocious! You can't wear that one." 

"Why not?" McCoy demanded.

"It's boring!"

"I like this one." It was time to put his foot down with all of this nonsense. "You want me to wear something, I'm wearing this."

Timon sighed. "Just a minute, let me talk to my boss." The young man stomped off.

Many tense minutes later, Timon returned with the wardrobe supervisor. "Well," the supervisor said, "if he insists on wearing that, we can't stop him. We can judge, but he has his rights, I guess. I mean he does look good."

"And that's important," McCoy said.

"There's no accounting for taste," the supervisor said. "If he wants to wear that, then he can wear that." 

"Well, thank you," McCoy said, unsure of what even to say. 

"The queen is going to have my ass on a platter," Timon said. 

"It'll be fine, Timon," McCoy found himself reassuring the young man. "I know her personally."

"What's she like?"

"She's gorgeous," McCoy said. 

"Ooh! I just love her."

"The queen will be just fine with his attire," the supervisor agreed.

"You're going to need some shoes," Timon said. 

McCoy looked down at his rainbow socked feet and felt seized with terror, wondered if they were going to foist on him some horrific silver platform heels or something like what that old 20th century musician Elton John would wear, so that he would be having a hard time walking, probably twist an ankle, not that these damned haughty Tulipians would care. They were all about style over substance, it seemed.

Timon pulled out a large shoebox. "Since you're so tall, you don't need much height. So you might like this." He opened the box to reveal a pair of white and red paisley cowboy boots. 

McCoy gasped. 

"I know they're not the greatest looking things," Timon said. "In fact they're the ugliest things I've ever laid eyes on. But they look okay with the outfit."

"My god, they're fantastic!" McCoy said. 

"I dare say they're a sight better than what you came in with. Your Crocs," the supervisor muttered with disgust.

"Well anything's better than lime green Crocs," McCoy told him.

Another wardrobe man yelled over: "What's wrong with crocs? I have a pair in every color!"

"They're atrocious! They should be banned!" the supervisor yelled back, then said to McCoy (who laughed): "Where did yours come from, honey? Your ship?"

"No," McCoy said, "the gift shop back at the hotel."

"Oh."

McCoy stepped into the cowboy boots and discovered that they were as comfortable as they were pretty. He was now in love with these things. A shame he had to give them back afterwards. He then slid his Type II scanner into his front trouser pocket, his communicator into one back pocket, and his small type II phaser into the other back pocket, as the wardrobe assistant watched. 

"Is that a medical device in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Timon said as he giggled. McCoy pulled the scanner out of his pocket, showed the young man, who laughed even harder. 

"I have to carry this," McCoy told him.

"Why don't you leave all of your stuff here? It's not very attractive." 

McCoy slipped the scanner into the thinner medikit he carried during times he couldn't bring his larger bag, it didn't really fit with all the hyposprays but he made it fit. His larger medical bag itself was with Yeoman Rand. He attached the medikit onto his hip. "I'm a physician, I'm wearing it." He smiled. 

"He's such a pain in the ass!" another wardrobe guy yelled out, talking about him. "This guy acts like there's going to be a medical emergency at this event." The other assistants laughed. 

"It's non negotiable," McCoy told the assembled.

"You can put your toys in the inner pocket of your jacket." The supervisor showed him how with an air of impatience like they were dealing with an idiot. The communicator and his scanner and his type II phaser barely fit.

McCoy arched an eyebrow at him. "My dear, they're not toys."

"Sure that's what they all say!"

*

They told him he needed jewerly to round out his outfit. He accepted. They wanted to take his pinky ring and replace it with something else, something gaudier. He balked at that, wasn't letting them get rid of his most important possession but he let them slip a beautiful, elaborate ruby and gold ring on his other hand. They stuffed a paisley white hanky into his upper jacket pocket, then gave him a large gold caduceus pendant that he really liked. Something else he wished he could keep.

He finally was able to leave the dressing area. He returned to the green room, sat back down on the empty velvet couch. "Where's Mr. Spock?" he asked, trying to damp down the panic. 

"Oh, don't worry, sweetie, he'll be out in a minute."

McCoy wondered what these crazy Tulipians were doing to the Vulcan, debated whether or not he should intervene. He noticed on the coffee table in front of him there was now some food laid out: Fruit and crackers and cheese. He ate some and drank another glass of champagne as he waited on tenderhooks.

"Here's your boyfriend," the 'green room' hostess told him.

"I don't have a...." McCoy stood up, turned around to greet the first officer.

The Vulcan was very timidly being led out by another sexy hostess. Spock was...holy Jesus...clad in a blue velvet suit tailored exactly to the first officer's measurements, a green/blue/red paisley shirt, he was wearing the most gorgeous shoes, the outfit topped off with a long skinny black tie. As the Vulcan got closer McCoy could tell he was wearing silver eyeshadow, no foundation or blush however, maybe he'd fought them off, McCoy didn't know. But. Wow. 

"Doctor," Spock said, almost apologetically, "I was unable to stop this process." 

"Don't worry, Mr. Spock, you look good," McCoy told the poor Vulcan, trying to sooth him, but he did really look amazing but he wasn't going to tell the first officer that. 

"Likewise, Dr. McCoy," Spock said stiffly.

The hostess led the Vulcan to the velvet couch, Spock sat down with a sigh. They watched the bustle around them in silence before McCoy whispered: "Oh, calm down, will ya?" 

Spock rolled his eyes.

"Eat some more Jello," McCoy said.

Spock reached over, picked up his spoon he'd been using, scooped another serving, consumed it, then ate another. McCoy took some more cheese and crackers. 

"When you joined Starfleet, Spock, I bet you didn't ever think this would happen," McCoy said.

"Did you?" 

"We'll get through this, I hope." 

Spock took yet another piece of Jello. "You look ten years younger." 

"Do I?" McCoy turned to Spock. "You mean this a good look for me, something I should adopt?"

"I did not say that." 

"About time I'm the sexy one, instead of Jim." 

"If one considers Jim 'sexy'," Spock countered. 

One of the Tulipians called out: "Five minutes, darlings!" And McCoy felt his heart pound. His breathing increased. 

"Doctor, I suggest you calm down," Spock told him.

"I am calm," McCoy hissed, "but this is fucking ridiculous. This 'celebrity' bullshit. They've got me confused for somebody else. I don't know what I'm going to say out there. Something stupid?" He grabbed another champagne glass, downed half of it.

"I am certain you will think of something clever."

"Why in the hell didn't they choose Jim?! He lives for this kind of shit!" 

Johnny, the young man with the official looking clipboard suddenly appeared out of nowhere, looking entirely too goddamned cheerful. McCoy glared daggers at him.

“Oh dear, the stink eye,” Johnny said. “Are we not having a good time, Doc?”

McCoy got up from the sofa with his glass of champagne. Spock stood up, too, still munching on his goddamned Jello. “I’ve had better days, Johnny, thanks for asking,” McCoy grumbled and noted the hobgoblin now folding his arms, eyes full of amusement which made him even angrier.

“It’s interview time! Are you excited, Doc?” Johnny said.

Somebody took McCoy's glass of champagne away from him before he had a chance to finish the last drop.

*

He was completely and utterly out of his element. This was so bizarre. Insane. He didn’t really enjoy large crowds, nor speaking on camera. He was shy in front of huge audiences. Yet here he was on Tulipian World TV, sitting with an interviewer in some kind of television studio, microphones and cameras and bright lights shoved into his face, blinding him. These Tulipians and no doubt the millions watching on TV were all expecting some kind of speech from him and he drew on everything he had to come up with a funny, clever, impromptu talk that somehow managed to delight everyone, not let Captain Kirk down, telling all the world that he was thrilled to be here on Tulip II, thanking the queen, how ecstatic he was to be welcomed by the Tulipian people and he mentioned was hoping he could tour the hospitals and other medical facilities (that part was true, he wanted to see them). 

As this thing wore on, he felt perspiration dripping down his face, down his neck, down his back. What was that they called it, 'flop sweat'? Yeah, that was it, he was a flop. A mess. Dying up here.

He glanced at Spock, sitting over there in the audience, who seemed to be watching him with awe. That freaked him out even more than anything. He felt himself starting to quake, his hands felt clammy, he shivered in these hot lights. He sipped on his water glass and suddenly had to pee. Shoulda went to the mens room before this damned thing, all the champagne he'd had. Oddly enough he didn't feel tipsy.

Then the interviewer said there was to be a question and answer period with the reporters assembled. Alright. He could do that. Just a few harmless questions. Right? About medicine, science, or his life aboard the Enterprise. No big deal. Answer them and then get the hell out of here. But they didn’t ask questions about his speciality. No medical or scientific questions. Not at all. No, it was these crazy, probing, nosy, unsettling queries into his personal life. Such as:

“How long have you and Mr. Spock been a couple?” a reporter asked him.

“What? No. We’re just good friends.”

"What plans do you have for your wedding?" another asked. "Venue?"

"We're not engaged to be married, that was--" He looked over at Spock again. "--erroneous reporting." 

"What was your's and Mr. Spock's first date like?"

"We've never been on a date, we're just good friends."

“What do you and Mr. Spock like to do on a date? Give us a good story."

"Mr. Spock and I have never been on a date. We're just good friends. I hate to disappoint you all. But he and I are not--"

"You and Mr. Spock have never been on a date? Then how did you become a couple, did you simply hook up one night?"

"Don't you have any questions about medicine? I'd love to answer something about that."

"What is Mr. Spock like in bed?"

He coughed on his water. "I'm not going to answer that. That's ridiculous." He turned to the interviewer. "I'm getting out of here."

"You don't have to answer that one," the interviewer agreed. 

"Can we stop this? I've answered enough questions."

"Just a couple more," the interviewer said. "Then it's all over."

"Yes but, these questions are a little....Listen all of you. Listen good: Mr. Spock is not my boyfriend. He and I are co-workers, shipmates, friends. You got that? We're not together. We are not in a romantic relationship. We're not lovers. It's embarrassing for the both of us that you keep going on about it." 

“What is keeping you, Dr. McCoy, from going on a date with Mr. Spock?”

He managed to sidestep that one: “Well, uh. Starfleet doesn’t really give me much time for relationships. I’m mostly married to my job.” (Yeah, good answer, that’s what Jim always tells people.)

“How long has it been since you’ve been in a relationship?”

“Uh…um…It’s uh…I mean….” He hemmed and hawed. Did he really want to tell these lunatics his whole romantic history (or lack thereof)? It was none of their goddamned business. They probably already knew, especially if they’d been interrogating his big mouthed mother. “It’s been awhile for me, to be honest.”

“How old were you the first time you had sex, Dr. McCoy?”

McCoy’s mouth dropped open. “What?! None of your business—I can’t—I’m not answering that question, either.”

There were more and more probing questions. He glanced around himself, looking for a way out, he was a caged animal, desperate to flee. He scowled, made a mental note the next time he was able to contact Earth, to have a long talk with his mother, sister and especially his ex-wife about confidentiality. This was putting his life and the Enterprise's mission in danger. Loose lips sink ships, they used to say. Well it was true. He stood up, ready to end this torture. "That's it. I'm calling it." 

The interviewer picked up the mic. "Well, we would like to thank you all for coming. That is the end of our press conference." Still the reporters kept shouting out questions.

McCoy got up from the 'hot seat', made his way to the side of the room, leaned against the wall. Suddenly Spock was next to him. 

"That went well," McCoy said, laughing, in spite of himself. Spock shook his head.

Johnny appeared next to them, led them out through a door. "That was amazing! Simply amazing, Dr. McCoy! Wow the ratings on that one, never seen them so high!"

McCoy suddenly felt like he was about to pass out. "Just get us out of here." 

Johnny led them through a hallway into an anteroom. There were bottles of water on more silver trays. McCoy took a bottle, drank it. "Is there a car ready to take us back to the hotel?" he asked Johnny. He was aware that question sounded 'celebrity-like', but at this point, whatever. He spotted another adjacent tray with more glasses of champagne. He grabbed one, took a sip.

"Not yet, there's still something else you have to do," Johnny was telling him in the meantime.

"Oh Jesus, what now?"

*

He and Spock stood on the red carpet in front of what was known on Earth as a celebrity 'step repeat wall'. It was where there was a logo on a portable backdrop behind the person being photographed by what was known as 'photogs'. In this case it was himself and Spock, posing together in front of the 'Tulip World News' logo. This is what the celebs, public figures and movie stars on Earth did at their fancy events. He found this was actually kind of thrilling and he hoped he hadn't spilt water or champagne on the front on his suit. He wondered what Spock thought of this. The photographers kept motioning for him to move closer and closer to the Vulcan, get rid of the negative space between them. They did so. 

"Put your arms around each other!" the photographers yelled out. "Come on we don't have all day!" 

Testy, weren't they. These Tulipians wanted the great shot, didn't they, for their headlines, to sell photographs, for an honor he didn't deserve but they didn't care. He resisted. He wasn't their bitch and resented their demands. The photogs yelled out again for him and Spock to move closer.

Finally, to shut them all up, he went ahead and slid an arm around the Vulcan's waist, hand on Spock's back, pulling the Vulcan against his body, all the while smiling for the flashbulbs. He was going to get Jim for this. But then, he felt Spock slide an arm around his waist. He turned to Spock, to check on how the Vulcan was doing, who in turn looked back at him, with some kind of weird smirk on his Vulcan lips. God what he wouldn't give to find out what this hobgoblin was thinking. Was the first officer amused by all of this nonsense or something? What the hell was that sultry look? Spock wasn't humilated by this at all, it didn't look like. McCoy pursed his lips at that, at the Vulcan.

"Oh Baby, that looks great, how 'bout giving each other a little kiss?" a photographer demanded amid the shouting and the flashes.

"No," McCoy said, still looking into Spock's eyes. Spock gave him another little flirty look, unmistakable, what in the fuck was that all about? Almost begilling. Like a goddamned tease, like a fucking siren.

"Come on, kiss! It'll look great! KISS! KISS!" They were all shouting it now: "KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!" 

The look in Spock's eyes, was a challenge, a dare. Wasn't it. Spock was actually fucking daring him to kiss him. Holy fuck. How in the universe did Spock know how to flirt like that with his eyes? 

He didn't know what happened. It had to be all the cajoling from the photographers, Spock's devilish glean in those dark eyes, maybe some of the champagne was urging him on, working on him, lowing his defenses, he didn't know what possessed him, but he gave in, moved all of those few inches closer and gave Spock a peck on the lips.

Spock's eyes had flitted closed. Now things felt like slow motion, like when he'd once gotten into that accident, wrapped his classic car around the tree, stomped on his brakes but it wasn't enough he slid right into the trunk, it was that same feeling, only took a moment but felt like an eternity, out of control, like they were screeching towards something he couldn't stop, gravity took over, there had to be a physics formula for this, but he couldn't remember right now, and when they hit....

He was still kissing Spock and suddenly nobody else existed and all he could hear was his own heart pounding, felt own face grow hot with a blush, his own body tingle. He suddenly broke the kiss.

Spock opened his eyes, looked back at him. 

The spell was broken. McCoy released Spock. Stepped back. Then away. 

"Hey where you going?" a photographer yelled out. 

"This photo-op is over. Put a fork in me, I'm done." McCoy walked off, leaving the Vulcan behind.

On to the next chapter....


	9. Strange Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy and Spock deal with the fallout of the press-conference and spend the night in McCoy's room together.

McCoy stalked into the green room area, past all of the congratulatory make-up artists, wardrobe assistants, hostesses, hangers on whoever else was in here squealing in delight at his presence. Johnny, the assistant kid with the clipboard, sounded like he was hot on his heels. He didn't know where Spock was, still posing for the photographers on the red carpet? Who knew. The Vulcan could have this kind of lifestyle. He, Leonard McCoy, was done. 

"Where the hell's the goddamned restroom?" he demanded of one of the Tulipians. 

"The what, groovy darlin'?" 

"The bathroom! Where can a guy urinate around here? You do have separate rooms for bodily functions, donchya?"

"Depends on who you talk to. Relax sailor, we have toilet rooms." 

"Toilet rooms? Oh, alright, that's what you guys call 'em. Where are they? Kindly point me in the right direction." 

"Over there, Doc Stunning." The wardrobe assistant pointed, their chunky white bracelets jingling as they did so. 

McCoy shook his head, grumbling, walked off in that direction.

When he entered the restroom, or bathroom, or 'toilet room' or whatever it was called, he noticed Paulle, the make-up artiste, standing at the bathroom sink. Paulle didn't look as happy as the rest of 'em. In fact Paulle's mood was refreshingly just like his own.

"How'd it go?" Paulle asked, folding his arms, leaning against the wall like Spock sometimes did when very comfortable. However, this guy looked like he'd gone through the ringer, very haggard and almost fragile.

McCoy huffed out a bitter laugh, then walked past him, over to the urinals--luckily they were like the ones on the Enterprise or on Earth. He took a piss, keeping himself from audibly sighing from the relief, because someone else was present, but goddamn, he'd been holding that awhile. 

"That bad, huh?" Paulle called over. 

McCoy finished up, put himself away and zipped up his pants. He stepped back so that the urinal flushed. He walked over to where Paulle was, then waved his hands in front of the sensor (at least it was hands free). The water turned on and he washed his own hands. "Let's just say, I'm not really cut out for the celebrity lifestyle." 

"I thought you did great, Doc, I saw you on TV. Well, some of the presser. You were charming, funny, you looked good. At least."

"Well, thank you. I do appreciate what you did for me, making me look presentable on camera."

"Been awhile since I've had such a pure, unspoiled canvas to work on." 

McCoy couldn't help but smile at him. "I only look pure and unspoiled."

Paulle now smiled, too, perking up a little. "You have the loveliest eyes, you know."

"Yours aren't so bad, either," McCoy said. His smile widened to a grin, he chuckled then glanced down at his shoes, the gorgeous cowboy boots, suddenly shy. "I'd better get back out there. People will be bursting in here, looking for me."

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Doc," Paulle said, holding out his hand.

"Leonard," McCoy said, now looking at him, shaking Paulle's hand. "Likewise."

"Leonard," Paulle repeated. "I heard what you said at the presser, you and uh...Spock aren't attached, after all."

"No, we uh...aren't."

"As usual the media is so full of shit. They're such a joke," Paulle said. 

"Well, if that press conference is any indication, you may be right."

"Here." Paulle dug into his pocket, drew out a small card made of real paper. "Maybe you and I could go for a drink sometime." 

McCoy took the card from him, looked at it, along with a flowery design, something was printed on it, in raised bold face type, a sequence of digits. "I'm flattered but, uh, to be honest, Paulle, I think I'm going back to my ship tonight." 

"Oh, well then, pay that little card no notice." Paulle tried to grab it out of McCoy's hands but McCoy held it away from him.

"Is this like a 'telephone number' or--?" McCoy asked.

"Don't tease, baby." 

McCoy arched his eyebrow at him. "I'm not."

"It's just like on your Earth. We have telephones and phone numbers and business cards."

"Well, it was like that on Old Earth. We don't really do that anymore, they even stopped assigning phone numbers in the 22nd century, but uh...." McCoy trailed off, felt like he was rambling or maybe causing offense. 

"Then it's a little old fashioned. But, I'm glad you understand." Paulle was about to say something else, when suddenly Johnny burst into the mens room.

"Dr. McCoy! Come quick!" 

"What is it?!" McCoy said. 

"Mr. Spock! Something's happened to him!"

McCoy was outta that bathroom like a shot.

*

McCoy found Spock passed out on the red velvet sofa. Somebody must have led him here when McCoy was in the restroom. Dammit, he shouldn't have left the first officer's side. He got out his scanner, swept it over the first officer's body: 'Acute Alcohol Intoxication'. So basically, alcohol poisoning. Fuck. He took a set of vitals, didn't like what he was looking at: Radial pulse was strong with BP 110 over 90 (high for Spock), sinus-tachy heart rate consistently at 119 bpm (way too high for Spock), too slow of a respiratory rate. McCoy felt Spock's heart with his hand. Sometimes he didn't trust his scanner but sure enough--

Spock had only had one glass of champagne, as far as McCoy was aware, was that one glass enough to overload his liver and intoxicate his Vulcan system? 

The Vulcan's blood alcohol concentration (BAC) was also too high a percentage. McCoy scanned a glass of champagne. Not enough booze in one glass to cause this. He then noticed the remnants of the Jello. Spock had eaten a great deal of it, damn near consumed the entire thing himself. McCoy tilted his head at it, curiously, then scanned it. He looked at the readout. Fury welled up inside him. "Johnny!" he yelled out. 

"Yes, Dr. McCoy?" Johnny said in a frightened voice. 

"Is there a car ready to take us back to the hotel?" McCoy asked with gritted teeth, debating whether or not this situation was serious enough to beam up to the Enterprise. At any rate, he had to get Spock out of here. He noticed the Tulipians anxiously crowding around. 

"Step back, please," he heard Johnny tell the others.

Suddenly, Spock came to, lolled his head over. McCoy jumped to assist him. "Spock. It's okay, I'm here." 

Spock tried to tell him something but his words were slurred. 

"Don't try to talk, Spock." McCoy shot the Vulcan with a hypo of anti-nausea, and a compound to counteract the overload of sugars in his bloodstream. He couldn't give the first officer a shot of anti-ol yet until he was out of here, laying down in private, so he could sleep it off. 

"Johnny," McCoy snapped. "That car better be outside."

"Yes, it's ready to go. In back." 

McCoy shifted the Vulcan to a sitting position. "Grab his other arm," he said to Johnny. The assistant did so, and McCoy commanded: "Watch it, he's heavy. On a count of three we're going to stand him up. Spock, we're going to stand up, hold on to me, alright?"

They stood him up. McCoy groaned with Spock's weight, put an arm around his shoulders, Johnny did the same. "Okay, where's the car?" McCoy said to the assistant. 

The crowd of looky-loos parted for them and Spock managed to walk, albeit very unsteadily with McCoy and Johnny's assistance, but that was better than happing to carry, or drag him out of here. He, Johnny and Spock made their way to the back entrance to this venue. They finally reached the doorway. It was night or at least dark outside, and pouring down rain, (how long had they been here? Must have been hours). Johnny held an umbrella over their heads. McCoy noted the area around the waiting car, another stretch limousine, was also mobbed with a massive crowd of people. So much for going through the back entrance. 

"Oh shit," McCoy said. "Is there another way?"

"Don't worry, Doc, we'll make it through the gauntlet," Johnny said. The chauffeur of the pink stretch limousine--McCoy realized he should have insisted upon a more subdued color but it couldn't be helped now-- had apparently noticed their arrival, got out in the rain, opened the car door, then walked over to help him and Johnny with Spock and escort them through the pressing crowd. 'Fans' they called them on Earth. It would be interesting to know what the Tulipians called them. Maybe the same.

He managed to push Spock inside the vehicle, with the chauffeur's help and Johnny holding the umbrella. There was shrieks, screaming, hands grabbing at his jacket. Johnny batted the them away. McCoy finally dived into the limo. The chauffeur shut the door behind him. Then the chauffeur climbed into the front seat of the car, pulled the car away from the curb, through the crowd. McCoy peered through the window, as the horde of screaming fans tried to block in the limo. Weren't 'fans' short for 'fanatic'? They were in trouble.

"Don't worry, boss! I'll get us out of this!" the chauffeur yelled, his neck craning to the back section where McCoy and Spock were. 

The limousine suddenly sped off, finding an opening through the crowd. They found the open street. They reached the stoplight, cars honked their horns behind them.

"Some of the press are tailing us, but down worry, we'll lose them, soon as I get onto the Tulip-way." 

"Drive safely!" McCoy called up to the front. "Don't need to pretend we're on a formula one raceway."

"A what, boss?"

"Nothing. You keep driving." McCoy glanced over at the glassy eyed Vulcan. McCoy edged closer to him, snaked an arm around him. He could hear rain pattering on the roof of the car. "Spock," he whispered. "Are you tired? You can sleep, I got you. Sleep, Spock." He rubbed Spock's shoulder. 

Spock closed his eyes. McCoy gently nudged him over so that the Vulcan's head was leaning on his shoulder. 

"How long is the drive?" McCoy called to the chauffeur. 

"About an hour and a half, give or take. I'll get you back to the hotel safely, don't you worry about a thing." The car lurched, McCoy looked in the window behind him, they were still being followed.

McCoy dug his communicator out of his jacket pocket, flipped it open. "McCoy to Kirk." The communicator beeped, no signal. "Dammit." He tried the ship. "McCoy to Enterprise, come in Enterprise." Three more beeps.

"Yeah, I've been having trouble with the reception all day long, boss," the chauffeur told him. "Sorry 'bout that."

McCoy glanced out of the window again. Cars made him nervous, especially this driver going at such a high rate of speed. Eventually they lost the press and anybody else following close behind. Probably still tracking them but via different means. The limo finally slowed down a bit when they went over a suspension bridge.

As time wore on, it had stopped raining but it was starting to feel hot and stuffy in the back, with his jacket on, in close physical contact with the first officer. "Hey, driver, you mind if I crack open a window?" he asked.

"Want the moon roof open? A little nicer."

"Sure." The roof of the limo went transparent, and then a small window opened up overhead. Ah, fresh air. McCoy hugged Spock closer. Through the roof he could see the two moons: Tweetledee and Tweetledum. "Now, that's a beautiful sight."

"Ah, Petunia and Violet," the chauffeur told him. "Full moons tonight."

"That's what you call your moons?" McCoy asked. 

"Yeah, cause one's purple, we call it Violet. The green one is Petunia."

"Thought maybe you guys were merely consistent with the flower theme." McCoy glanced over at Spock in his arms, again, who'd stirred a little, but didn't wake up. Spock was missing the full twin moons. He'd love this. 

"Want some music on, boss?"

"That would be nice."

"Anything in particular you prefer?"

"Driver's prerogative," McCoy told him.

"How about 'ELO'?"

"ELO?"

"'Electric Light Orchestra', from Earth, circa 1970's. Greatest hits album. You'll like that, boss."

McCoy was familiar with the band, but was surprised, maybe he shouldn't have been. Many planets mimicked Earth in its various stages of development, but it was rare that a planet got it just right. There was only a few minor differences. Maybe he could retire here. The sounds of 'Strange Magic' came on. He loved this song.

Before long and as ELO played more tracks, and especially when 'Wild West Hero' came on, he found himself softly singing along, a sleeping Spock in his arms, it felt exhilarating and he didn't want this moment to end. Eventually he became lost in thought, absently caressing the Vulcan's arm, under the moonlight and the refreshing coolness of the slight wind from the open window.

"We're here, boss!"

McCoy looked out the window and found they were around the back of the hotel, the service drive, it seemed. He didn't recognize this area, never having been back here, but he had to trust the driver. 

"We better hurry, before any more press or 'Lennies' arrive! We made it here in the nick of time," the chauffeur called back.

"'Lennies'? what are those?" McCoy asked, but the driver didn't answer.

The chauffeur got out of the car, then walked to the back, opened the door to the back seat. He helped McCoy get Spock out of the car, throwing Spock's arm over his shoulder, then walking him to the lobby. Sure enough it was indeed the correct hotel. As they walked though the service entrance, McCoy noted the front desk clerk watching them with interest.

"I can help you get him upstairs if you like," the chauffeur said. 

Spock suddenly protested: "No. Release me."

The chauffeur did. "Sorry, Sir." 

"It's alright, I got it from here," McCoy told the man. 

"The hotel staff's on duty, they can help if you need it."

"Thank you," McCoy told him. 

"No problem. Have a pleasant night." The chauffeur walked off. 

Spock now was able to walk relatively okay on his own, a little wobbly, but McCoy held onto the Vulcan's elbow.

As they passed the front clerk's desk, the man asked: "May I assist you, Dr. McCoy?"

"No, no, thank you, I got it," McCoy said.

"Let me know if you need anything, Doctor." 

"I will. Thank you," McCoy called behind him.

He guided Spock into the elevator. Spock stared straight ahead, kept silent. As the doors closed them in, the elevator rose, McCoy glanced over at the mirror on the wall, at their reflection in it. The two of 'em looked good, but what was he saying? Spock was ill. But maybe he could get a press photo, for prosperity, a memento from this crazy planet. Especially since he was going back to the Enterprise as soon as Jim declared shore leave.

They reached McCoy's hotel room. Door key. That's right. God, he hoped he still had it. He dug into his jacket pocket. Pulled out his key and the little card with Paulle's telephone digits on it. He shoved the card back into his pocket, opened the door with his key. 

He propelled Spock into his room, sat him down on the bed. He shut the door. As soon as they'd entered, some low illumination came on. He looked around, obviously the maid had been in here again. There was new water bottles stocked, a new bottle of 'Love Whiskey' (ugh), what looked to be new linens on the bed, more fresh rose petals decorating the bed, the old ones had been removed, he could smell their scent, but right now he didn't care about that. "Spock, it's alright, you can relax," he whispered, even though they were alone. 

Spock slowly nodded. 

McCoy tossed the key onto the nightstand. He took the medi-kit off his hip, took out his phaser, communicator and put everything onto the nightstand. Spock merely sat on the bed, dazed. "Hey, Spock, you okay?" 

Spock didn't answer.

"Hey look at me, Spock." Spock darted his eyes in McCoy's direction. "Listen, I'm going to take off your jacket and your shoes." McCoy removed them and kicked the shoes under the bed so that neither one of them tripped over them. He noticed Spock's rainbow socks, identical to his, damn this was the most bizarre planet if they even got Spock to wear their socks. "Okay, I'm taking off your shirt." He removed the Vulcan's long black tie and paisley shirt. Spock had worn his own black undershirt, which made McCoy smile. The first officer had probably had to fight hard for that. "Now your trousers, alright, Spock?" At this, Spock tried to clumsily assist him. McCoy batted his hands away and unbuttoned them, then slid down the pants, pulled them off. Spock was wearing rainbow boxer shorts. McCoy shook his head at that, poor Spock. 

McCoy gathered up all of the discarded clothing, let them drop onto the carpet. He drew back the duvet on the bed, knocking off some petals onto the carpeted floor. He'd be glad to get the hell out of this nuthouse.

"Spock lay down," he commanded, shifting the Vulcan over, then holding onto the back of Spock's head as it hit the pillow. "Comfortable?" 

Spock didn't reply, just stared up at the mirrored ceiling. 

McCoy took a second set of vitals to make sure this goddamned hobgoblin wasn't gonna crump (in the medical sense) on him. Wouldn't that be something. He picked up his medi-kit, drew out a hypospray, got out the anti-ol. He really needed his larger bag, but he'd have to call Jim for that, and he'd do that after Spock was out cold.

"Thirsty," Spock suddenly said in a slurred voice, but McCoy understood. 

"I'll get you some water, Spock. You stay here in bed, you're safe now, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back. You just relax, hang tight. You got me?" He set the hypospray on the bedside table, rushed to the bathroom, poured some tap-water into a glass, too late realizing there was some new sealed bottles of water on the table, but this would do.

He hurried out of the bathroom, approached the bed, and nearly had a goddamned heart attack. Spock was not in the bed. "Shit!" Where'd he go? Spock must have taken off out of the room. How'd he get away so fast?

Until McCoy noticed that the sliding glass door to the balcony was open. Oh shit. He rushed over, setting the water glass down on the nearby coffee table. Spock was standing out there on the balcony, in the open air, gazing up at the twin moons. There was a blanket on the sofa. McCoy snatched it, rushed out to his side. "What in the hell are you doin', man? It's freezing out here. Get inside, Spock." Spock was only in his fucking underwear and socks. "Spock!" McCoy hissed. He threw the blanket over Spock's shoulders.

"'It is cold."

"Yeah, no shit, Spock. You're practically naked out here." McCoy's teeth started chattering. Damn, it really was cold. Must be the beginning of Tulipian autumn.

"I am not...not....fully naked. Would you...like me to be?"

McCoy held onto the Vulcan's shoulders. "No. Spock, listen to me. I want you to come inside, where it's warm." Great, nice to know a drunken Vulcan was a great deal like a drunk human, pretty much behaving like a toddler. "Come on, Spock. Inside. Come on, Spock." He knew from experience that he couldn't force Spock to move if he didn't want to, it was like trying to propel a moose or an old Earth bison, he could only get him inside by cajoling him.

Somehow Spock had maneuvered his arms so that McCoy's hands had slipped down and they were now grasping hands on the balcony. Under normal circumstances it would be sweet. The physical affection. But right now he had to get Spock's Vulcan ass indoors or he'd be dealing with a case of hypothermia. Over nearby there was the sound of some kind of aircraft. Was that thing spying on them? McCoy tugged hard, desperate to get them inside, and somehow managed to drag the Vulcan back in. McCoy closed the balcony door, then locked it while Spock continued to stare through the sliding glass window at the moons and what looked to be a nebula. "You want to look at the sky a little bit longer, Spock? Alright, you do that." He pulled the blanket closer around Spock, trying to warm him up. "That better? You don't wanna be out there in that chilly night air, do ya?" He didn't know why he kept talking to Spock like a child but it just felt right.

Spock didn't answer him anyway, just looked at the moons.

"Spock, I have some water for you. Drink this." McCoy lunged over, grabbed the glass from the coffee table. "Can you hold onto it? Drink this." He handed it to Spock. The Vulcan drank the entire glass of water in one gulp, then gave it back to McCoy. "You want some more?"

Spock shook his head 'no', then continued to stare at the twin moons. McCoy stood with him in silence for a long while.

Rain began to fall again, pattering against the window. He'd gotten Spock inside just in time. It wasn't everyday they got to see sights like this, experience simple pleasures like this. He missed the rain, when they were always aboard ship. Most of the other planets didn't have weather patterns that mimicked Earth as much.

"The moons...are...breathtaking," Spock said, wonderment in his voice. McCoy smirked then snuck a glance over and saw the Vulcan's expression. That was also something you didn't see every day. The moonlight illuminated Spock's unique, alien features, his delicate pointed ears, the silver eyeshadow, Spock's lips, his beautiful perfect white teeth....McCoy turned away. It didn't help matters if he kept staring at him like that.

Spock suddenly huffed out a laugh, very small, if you didn't know him you would have missed it, but he knew everything about Spock. He jerked his head towards the Vulcan. There was only one other time he'd heard Spock actually laugh and that was on-- 

"My god, you're so drunk," McCoy said, his nerves suddenly taking over, he found himself blathering, talking like a fool. "Maybe I should get you wasted more often. We're lucky nobody else is around, lucky Jim can't see you, you'd never live this down, good thing we got back so fast, right? It was a nightmare tonight, wasn't it? Was horrible. Humiliating wasn't it, Spock." And he needed to get the anti-ol dosed soon or he'd probably be dealing with this all night long. "Come on, Spock, I think you need to--"

"Shut up, Leonard."

McCoy, shocked into silence, did so.

Spock suddenly turned to him. "Are we...alone?"

"Of course we are, Spock."

"Remove your jacket," Spock commanded. The Vulcan was no longer slurring, he sounded more alert, but he had a strange look in his eyes.

"No, it's too cold." McCoy told him.

Spock reached over, caressed McCoy's face. McCoy felt the soft fingers, his face tingled with the contact. He gulped. "Spock, what in the fresh hell you think you doin'?"

"Why did you kiss me?" Spock asked. "At the event?"

"I don't know. I got caught up in the moment, I guess. I was out of line. I'm sorry."

Spock touched McCoy's chin. He had a way of making a simple gesture look so beautiful. "You are a horrible liar."

"I'm not...lying. I shouldn't have done it. I don't know why I did it. Just happened."

"Your eyes, they give you away."

"Give what away?" McCoy asked, gulping again. 

Spock smiled and right now it terrified McCoy. "What is it you say, _Doctor_ , when you do not believe what you have just heard? That is 'bullshit'. Is that not right? 'Fucking bullshit'. Is that not correct, _Doctor_?"

"Spock. Enough." Spock was definitely out of his Vulcan mind. McCoy backed up, should have brought his hypospray with him over here.

Spock grabbed onto one of McCoy's hands, then cupped his face with the other. "You are shaking. Why are you shaking?"

"I'm not."

"Do I frighten you? Tis only me, Dr. McCoy. _Leonard_. I rather like that name." Spock took a shaky step forward.

"Spock, watch it you're gonna fall--" McCoy began but Spock's lips were on his. He tried to pull away. Spock grabbed him, held him still.

Fine. This goddamned inebriated, illogical Vulcan wanted to kiss him back, after that red carpet business. Payback was a bitch, wasn't it. Except it wasn't like before, was nothing like that rather chaste smack on the red carpet had been. This was more passionate. Wetter. (Well, Spock did just drink water, but...) It felt electrifying. He was ashamed to say he gave up, let the kiss happen, let it continue, he should stop this, should keep trying to push Spock away, Spock didn't know what in the utter fuck he was doing, this alcohol was making him like this. Should knock it off, but obviously couldn't very well get away from this 200 lbs of brute strength holding him in a drunken embrace, but he was the one with the mental advantage here. He was currently the sane one. He really should put a stop to this. But he let it keep going. It was wrong. He couldn't do this, but he was.

Goddamn he was going week in the knees.

The kiss was going straight to his dick, his breathing increased, he couldn't stop this.

It was like that time in his 1967 Mustang, years ago, when he was a resident at Mass Gen, that one night, driving home from the hospital, he was too tired, fell asleep at the wheel, until he woke up headed straight for that tree. Couldn't avoid it. Couldn't stop the impact. His foot stomped on the brake pedal, couldn't stop the car and he hit hard and then in the next second he was pinned. Screaming. Waiting for an eternity for the paramedics to cut him out of there. 

Dammit, he had to stop this kiss before he was pinned, metaphorically speaking or maybe literally.

He pulled back, but Spock grabbed him and kissed him again. McCoy bit down on Spock's tongue. Spock gave out a noise, stopped, pulled back this time. "Knock it off, Spock," McCoy panted out. "I'm going to hit ya if you don't stop."

Spock, licking his lips, glanced around and suddenly the Vulcan seemed to register where he was, what he was doing. Those sad dark eyes then looked down at the floor. "Why do you fight me?"

"This isn't you, Spock." After a moment, McCoy felt motivated to touch the Vulcan's hair, feeling the softness under his fingers. Spock closed his eyes at the contact. McCoy immediately changed tack. "You need--we need to go to bed. Will you come to bed?"

"May I kiss you again?"

No. No. No. No. No. No. But McCoy nodded 'yes'. He wasn't going to be able to stop this. Don't do it.

Spock kissed him again, but this time maneuvering then propelling McCoy backward and backward, towards-- McCoy was assuming--the bed. Somehow his jacket was now off, and tossed to the floor. 

The back of McCoy's knees finally hit the mattress. Spock pushed him so that McCoy fell backwards onto it. Oh god, they were really going to--

"Do you want me?" he heard Spock ask, he never thought he'd ever hear that coming out of the Vulcan's mouth. He didn't fucking answer, but it was probably obvious what he wanted.

Spock's weight was on him, his hips on his, he felt Spock pressing against his thigh, and he was hard against Spock's, he froze a moment until Spock kissed him again, the Vulcan was off his rocker, out of his gourd, but nevertheless, it felt amazing, sensitive, beautiful, gentle, he felt Spock's fingers undoing his shirt and if he didn't do something right now, he'd cave in, they would-- 

Mid kiss, as Spock finished unbuttoning his shirt-- and he could feel the gold caduceus pendant cold on his own bare skin-- McCoy felt over, with his hand, for the bedside table, somehow managed to grab the hypospray, then quickly shot it into Spock's shoulder. Spock sagged down, collapsing fully onto McCoy, a crushing dead weight. McCoy circled his arms around the Vulcan a moment, closed his eyes, but only for an instant. Sometimes you had to do what you had to do.

Then with every ounce of strength he could muster, he pushed Spock off of him, so the Vulcan rolled over onto the bed, onto his side. "Jesus Christ, you're heavy." With a sigh he tossed the empty hypospray back onto the bedside table. He paused, listened to Spock's even breathing. Trying to calm himself down.

This wasn't a dream, this really happened, never in a million years did he ever think-- What the hell was--was this just from the booze? Maybe something else was in that Jello. Some kind of aphrodisiac. Had to be. He touched his lips. Holy shit.

Spock suddenly cried out, eyes closed. "It burns, oh, it burns."

McCoy put a hand on Spock's back, soothing him. "It's alright, it's alright. It's just the anti-ol working its way through your system. Relax. Sleep. That's it."

After a while, Spock was truly asleep. McCoy clambered out of bed. He pulled Spock's blanket so that it was now covering the first officer, then put the duvet over that, to keep Spock warm.

The room temperature had dipped down so low it felt like they could store meat in here. McCoy looked around for the room controls to turn on the heat, even called out 'environmental controls' or 'room temp' to no avail.

He still had a weeping erection from all of that screwing around.

He picked up the type II scanner again, making sure Spock was currently stable. He threw that onto the bedside table. Spock should be out for several hours, probably till morning. He walked into the bathroom. Even though it was freezing, sweat had formed his brow.

He shucked off his boots and the rest of his clothing, throwing it onto the floor, leaving the undershirt and rainbow boxers on, but it all belonged to the Tulipians. He also kept the socks on, donned the red fluffy robe, the polka-dotted slippers. His dick was still painfully hard, of course it was from all of this, tenting the shorts, along with a wet spot from pre-cum. He stared at himself in the mirror. All of that uh...illicit activity, hadn't mussed up his hair, or his make-up. Funny wasn't it? He wasn't laughing.

Oh...he was so fucking turned on, so fucking horny, dammit, he could still feel Spock's mouth on his, Spock's hips against his, Spock's weight on him, Spock's hard cock against his thigh, Jesus fucking Christ. He yanked down his underpants, jacked off like a madman. He cried out as he came into the toilet, squirting all over the seat, maybe got a drop on his slippers, the orgasm hitting him hard, dammit that felt so trashy, so uncouth but he did it anyway. Shame on him for what happened tonight. Goddamn his stupid, nasty human desires.

After cleaning himself and the toilet up, then flipping the seat up and taking a piss, making himself decent, brushing his teeth and finally washing his hands of the whole ordeal, he walked out of the bathroom. He glanced over at the slumbering Spock, before finding his own communicator, wishing for a drink to calm down his nerves, his shaking hands. He flipped it open, his voice a little rough: "McCoy to Kirk."

" _Kirk here_."

"Captain, please come to my hotel room, quick as you can."

*

McCoy and Kirk sat on the couch. McCoy swigged from a bottle of water. "His fucking Jello he was eating was spiked with booze and fuck knows what else."

"Spiked?!" 

"Yeah, Jim."

"To embarrass the both of you? To poison Spock?"

"To loosen us up. Get us to do things we'd normally be too shy to do to each other."

"You two kissed on the red carpet, I saw it on the TV."

"Exactly."

"Did you eat any Jello?"

"I can't stand the stuff. No, I did not."

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Hardly anything."

"Are you drunk or were you drunk, during the press conference?"

"Me? Not at all."

"Yet you kissed him."

McCoy sighed, drank from his water bottle. "We're going to have to check everything we consume on this planet from here on out. The entire landing party."

"Duly noted. What is that you're drinking now?"

"Dihydrogen Monoxide," McCoy told him. Jim thought about it a moment, then shook his head. 

Spock suddenly shifted, let out a whimper. McCoy set down his water, got up, went over to him, Jim following. "He okay?" Jim asked. 

McCoy lay a hand on Spock's shoulder. "S'alright, Spock, I'm here." He dug into his larger medical bag Jim had brought him. Filled another hypo. 

"What are you going to give him?" Jim asked.

"Ativan. He's not tolerating the anti-ol very well. First time he's had to take it. Normally it's for you, Jim," McCoy said, before dispensing the light sedative into Spock's shoulder. He put the hypospray back into the bag, went over to the couch and sat down, Jim following suit. "Oh, how was the uh...the luau, the beach party?" McCoy asked.

"Most of it got rained out, had to move it to under the tents, still was kinda nice. We all watched the press conference. You and Spock looked very glamorous."

"Hmph."

"Is that...make-up you're wearing?" Jim asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

"Wow, Bones. New look for you. Kinda like it. Really brings out your eyes."

McCoy huffed out a laugh as he drank more water. "Jim, you ever heard of the Old Earth Inca children that were discovered in the 21st century, those beautifully preserved mummies? They were specially selected from modest backgrounds. Elevated in status. Revered. For about a year they were plied with special foods and alcohol. To make them more submissive. Then, one day, they were sacrificed to the gods. They didn't struggle, fight, they simply accepted their fates." 

"Do you think that's what's going to happen to you and Spock?"

"If we don't get out of here. Yes."

"Do you think their intentions are truly nefarious?"

"I don't know what their intentions are, to be honest."

Jim thought a moment. "You hate Jello?"

"Yeah. Sure do."

"That's odd. This whole planet has been obsessed about what your favorite foods are. Interesting they'd serve a dish you hate."

McCoy nodded. Then shivered. "Brrrr."

"S'matter, Bones?"

"It's freezing in here."

"I haven't noticed."

"I can't find a way to turn the goddamned heat up." 

Jim helped him look around the room. "It must be here someplace. Computer! Turn the heat up!"

"I tried that."

"Well you're hanging around in your skivvies, that's why you're so cold. Maybe we should call the front desk." 

"I don't feel like it right now. I think there's another blanket here." McCoy began a hunt for it, he saw it around someplace.

"You know what, Bones? He looks exactly like the actor on 'Groundhog Day'," Jim was telling him.

"Who does? What the fuck are you talking about, Jim?"

"Haven't you ever seen that movie?"

"What movie?"

"Groundhog day."

"Yeah, I saw it, a long time ago."

"What's the lead actor's name?" Jim snapped his fingers. "Oh, it's Bill Murray." 

"What about him, Jim?"

"The front desk clerk looks like the late Bill Murray."

"Does he?"

"Yeah, Bones. Doesn't he?"

"I guess. I don't remember what Bill Murray looks like." McCoy found the other blanket, pulled it over himself. That would do for now.

"You hungry? Want some room service?" Jim said.

"Yeah. Now that you mention it."

"Here. The queen gave us these, told me to pass one on to you." The captain produced a credit card with a Tulip flower on it, handed it over. "Apparently there's no limit. We can charge as much as we like on it."

"Who pays the goddamned bill?" McCoy said with a chuckle. 

Jim shrugged. 

"So we'll be in debt to a planet, is that what you're telling me, Jim? Doesn't sound logical."

"You want room service or not?"

McCoy glanced back at the slumbering Spock.

"He's staying overnight, I'm assuming," the captain said.

McCoy turned his attention back to Jim. "Jealous?"

"No, just worried about your present state of mind." Jim reached out to touch McCoy's face, but McCoy drew back. "Why are you so skittish?"

"No reason. Just tired. Been a long fucking day."

"Are you going to wipe that make-up off?"

*

After Jim had left, McCoy looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He wetted and soaped up a washcloth. Should really take a shower, but it was too cold in here. He washed off the make-up and with it hopefully the horrible events of the day. After he rinsed off the soap, he began coughing uncontrollably. Goddammit. He wheezed, doubled over. 

He went out to where his medical bag was on the bedside table. Scanner informed him that his left lung sac was oddly inflamed. His O2 sat was low. He dug out the antibiotic, this was the strongest he had available, for some reason it didn't appear to be working quickly enough. Hit himself in the wrist with the hypos of that and tri-ox compound. Dammit, it still fucking hurt when he took a deep breath. He dug in the bag, found and swallowed a cough suppressant.

He debated whether or not he should sleep over on the couch but then ultimately decided to sleep next to Spock so he could keep close watch over him. He got into bed, under the duvet next to Spock, damn Spock was nice and warm, McCoy got close without actually snuggling with him, watching the sleeping first officer for quite a while. 

He hoped Spock wouldn't remember in the morning.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

On to the next chapter....


	10. The Morning After

He was dressed in the finery befitting a Tulipian royal: Rainbow metallic outfit with epaulettes, a sash, medals. The exquisite crown of Tulip felt heavy upon his head, well of course it was heavy, it was platinum with rubies and diamonds and emeralds and--They were in the throne room. He stood across from Spock, who was dressed just as fine as he was, they were clasping hands, they leaned towards each other, and kissed. Goddamn this Vulcan's mouth against his was so soft, gave him goosebumps--

Half awake, he realized he was in bed, held tightly by somebody, felt so warm and nice and he hadn't been held in so long he didn't want the feeling to end so he closed his eyes, dozed off again.

A hand landed on his back, gently patted him, a hoarse whisper calling out: "Doctor."

"Five more minutes."

The hand patted him again, a little harder. He raised his head. In bed, he was laying right up (or snuggled, perhaps) against Spock, his hand resting on the Vulcan's chest, his head nestled into the crook of Spock's arm. The very same Spock who was watching him. Oh hello. 

"Doctor."

"Huh?" Dear god, he felt awful, his voice raspy, throat sore, still exhausted. 

"If you would shift over, I can arise." 

"Oh." McCoy moved over for him, rolled over onto his back. As Spock nodded at him, got out of bed, McCoy snapped: "Well, good morning to you, too." 

"Good morning," Spock replied very crisply, but couldn't hide the fact he still had a slightly scratchy voice, or maybe that's just what he usually sounded like in the morning when first getting up. Being this was the first time they'd slept together, not _fucked_ mind you, just slept. Two of them, just sleeping together in the heart shaped bed in his hotel room on Tulip II. That's all they had done. Right?

McCoy scooched himself over to the side, put his bare feet on the floor, aware he had a painful erection this morning in his rainbow underwear. He hoped Spock hadn't noticed it but of course the Vulcan had probably had felt him, as their bodies had been right up against each other, but-- "S'pose you're wondering what you're doing in my bed." 

"The thought had crossed my mind." Spock, also in rainbow underwear and his black tee-shirt, seemed to be looking around for something. 

"Your stuff is over there, on the bedside table," McCoy told him.

"May I use your bathroom?" 

McCoy waved his arm over in a grandiose, exaggerated gesture. "It's all yours."

Spock beelined it for the bathroom, shut the door. 

"Well, how do you like that," McCoy said to himself. He went over to the bedside table, staring at his tented rainbow crotch, willing it to go down, nearly tripping on their combined pile of discarded clothing from last night. He yanked down his white t-shirt that had ridden up on his torso as he hunted around for the credit card Jim had given him. He had to pee so fucking bad, wished he would have dove in there before that damned Vulcan and he needed some goddamned coffee. The fuck time was it? He looked at the chron. 12:02 local Tulipian time. The fuck? They'd slept until noon? 

He walked over to the bathroom. Banged on the door. 

Spock opened it. "Yes?"

"Hand me my robe and slippers, would you?"

Spock located them, then handed them over, then shut the door on him rather abruptly. Goddamn who knew Spock was such a grouch in the morning? Maybe the first officer was throwing up in there, who knows.

He put his robe and slippers on, then found the credit card, then looked around for the hotel PADD to order room service, where the hell was it in this jumble of belongings on his bedside table. The bathroom door opened, Spock suddenly poked his head out. "Dr. McCoy, I require an acetaminophen tablet."

"Oh dear, I do believe somebody is hung over." 

"I am not. I merely have a headache. Most likely from that pungent aroma assaulting my nostrils," Spock huffed. With his hair all mussed up, and slightly damp like he'd wetted his face, the Vulcan still wearing the silver eyeshadow, dark circles under the first officer's dark bedroom eyes, and the beard repressor must of worn off of him, because he had a days worth of scruff on his face plus his pissed off, impatient, indignant little Vulcan attitude this morning made the first officer seem more human than normal, McCoy had to admit.

"What pungent aroma?" McCoy asked.

"The perfume of those flower petals." Spock pointed over to the bed. Neither one had bothered to make the bed when they got out of it, so it was a mess, flower petals strewn all over it and the carpet, the room looked like a tornado had hit it, looked like they'd gotten up to something, but they hadn't. "You could have brushed them _all_ off the bed," Spock demanded. "Or properly disposed of them."

"I dunno, probably because I had to watch over your drunk ass, that's why," McCoy tossed out as he pushed past Spock and into the bathroom, went pee, didn't care if the Vulcan watched. Didn't smell like vomit in here, maybe Spock hadn't puked his Vulcan guts out after all. He finished up, washed his hands, then exited the bathroom, dug into his medical bag, got out the acetaminophen, grabbed a bottle of water and walked it back over to Spock. "Brushing flower petals onto the floor like a slob was the least of my concerns last night, Spock. You wait just a damned minute." He used his type II scanner: Vitals were Spock normal at last. He put it away with satisfaction.

Spock rolled his eyes, took the tablet, the water bottle from him then ducked into the bathroom again, shutting the door. McCoy shook his head. He found the PADD, looked up the room service menu, ordered a coffee and a full breakfast for himself (he was fucking starving), and a lighter breakfast for Spock, and some green tea. He tossed the PADD onto the coffee table. Then he swallowed an acetaminophen pill himself, drank down his own bottle of water.

About 10 minutes later, Spock came out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist, his hair damp. "Doctor."

McCoy couldn't help but stare. "Yes?" 

"I have nothing to wear."

"Hmph. Sounds like a personal problem to me."

"My uniform has not been returned."

"Why don't you put on your glad rags from last night?" 

"My what?"

"Your civvies. They're a little wrinkled, wadded up on the floor here. But it beats walking around naked."

Spock sighed.

McCoy went over, got his communicator, flipped it open, as Spock turned and returned to the bathroom: "McCoy to Enterprise." Damn, his voice sounded as hoarse as Spock's. 

" _Enterprise, here. Good afternoon, Dr. McCoy_." 

"Afternoon? Isn't it zeta shift up there?" It would be the middle of the night aboard the ship. McCoy followed the Vulcan into the bathroom, as the door was left open and therefore now fair game.

"It's 12:30PM Tulipian local time, Doctor," the zeta shift communications lieutenant was saying. Spock showed a real honest to god human style reaction to the time, opening his mouth in an oval of surprise. 

"Lieutenant Liisa, Can you patch me to the Quartermaster, please?"

" _Right away, Doctor_." 

" _Quartermaster_." 

"This is Dr. McCoy. I require a Lieutenant Commander's duty uniform for myself and a commander's uniform for uh...Commander Spock, beamed down."

" _Dr. McCoy, you know I can't do that without the captain's authority, Sir. Is there any way you can get authorization_?"

Spock turned away from the bathroom mirror, motioned for the communicator, McCoy tossed it to him. "Quartermaster, this is First Officer Spock. Beam down the requested uniforms on my authority to these coordinates." Spock pressed a button.

" _Right away, Mr. Spock_." 

"Spock out." Spock tossed the communicator back to McCoy. 

"Why in the hell didn't you just call the Enterprise yourself in the first place," McCoy grumbled. He used the toilet again, right in front of Spock, who was still ogling himself in the bathroom mirror. After a beat he added: "Get all of your eye make-up off, Darlin'?"

Spock gave another exasperated sigh, but still stared at himself in that damned mirror. What in the hell was he doing? McCoy smirked, finished up, flushed, washed his hands. 

"Do you have an extra toothbrush?" Spock finally asked.

"Wanna share mine?" McCoy said. "Might as well."

"Negative." Spock didn't take the bait. 

McCoy dug around in the closest drawer. "I'm sure they supplied me with an extra one." He found it, in a pink plastic packaging, with a tiny tube of Tulipian rainbow toothpaste. He threw it onto the counter. "Here."

Spock picked it up, unwrapped it, threw the wrapper in the trash can. He squeezed out the toothpaste onto the toothbrush. "This planet's obsession with spectra is rather irritating."

"Everything's irritating when you're hung over," McCoy said. Folding his arms. "Even rainbows. The taste is nice, at least. Fruity."

"Out." Spock stuck the toothbrush into his mouth. 

"It's my bathroom." McCoy exited, however and left the jerk to brush his Vulcan teeth without an audience.

As McCoy waited for the room service food to show up, he went over to the TV put it on. It was showing, of course, he and Spock, kissing on the red carpet. Over and over again. The 'talking heads' on the news program doing some kind of stupid analysis of his and Spock's body language. It was bizarre. Then it showed scenes of him at the presser. He did look damned good, he had to say. 

Spock eventually came out of the bathroom again, still in his towel, joined him in watching the TV.

Then the TV news program broke for commercial. A young woman appeared topless on screen, nice perky breasts, wearing panties with red sequins, in the severe make-up and wig like everybody else here on the planet wore. She sang some kind of jingle, posing with a box of something.

"What in the devil is this ad for?" McCoy wondered softly, as they both stared. 

"Breakfast cereal," Spock replied, equally softly. "Fascinating." 

McCoy huffed out a laugh. "I want what she's having." 

Another commercial came on screen, presented by yet another topless woman, wearing green panties. This time it looked like it was for...McCoy tilted his head, some kind of adult sexual aid. "Dildos?" On Earth anything pretty much went, but an ad for a dildo on Global TV was a little-- 

"A what?" Spock asked him.

"Get your dildo in time for the holidays, Spock, you heard the girl. It's even on sale at Zody's. Look at that. I want a bright pink striped dildo for Christmas." McCoy lolled his head over, smirked at the Vulcan. "Just in case you were wondering what to get me." Spock rolled his eyes, turned his attention back to the TV. They watched some more commercials, Spock in a towel, McCoy in his rainbow stripey underpants and his robe and polka-dotted slippers as if it was the most normal thing for them to do. Nothing bizarre about this at all. No way.

"That is a rather large penis cast in rubber, and that is meant to be...enjoyable?" Spock asked.

"That brand has butt plugs too, hey, don't knock it till you've tried it."

"You have used this?" 

"Not really. No." 

After another long silence, Spock said absently, during yet another commercial (for actual tobacco cigarettes, it looked like), presented by a beefy looking guy with a 'banana hammock' style silver speedo on: "My beard repressor has worn off prematurely."

"The make-up artiste's probably removed it yesterday, when they were doing your make-up," McCoy replied casually, again, as if this was no big deal, as the commercials ended and the news program returned. They watched more footage of themselves kiss each other, over and over and over in a loop on TV. "There's some shaving cream and a razor in there. Do you want it?"

"Yes, please. I cannot go out like this." 

McCoy looked at the stubble on the Vulcan's face. "Why not? Might be a good look for you."

"It is not regulation."

They kept watching TV. The two presenters also had wild looking wigs on with their professional 'broadcast news' attire, albeit in brighter colors than was usually seen on news anchors. After a while McCoy said: "I should call into their show," McCoy said. "Be their surprise special guest."

"No."

"You're no fun."

McCoy watched TV in silence for several more moments, entranced, until Spock hit his arm. "Huh?"

"Doctor, please." 

"Oh alright, testy, testy. I was just waiting to see what the weather was going to be like." McCoy went into the bathroom, hunted around for a new razor and shaving creme, Spock following him. The Vulcan picked up a water glass, poured some water into it from the faucet. "You know," McCoy continued on, "you do have hands of your own, you could have looked for this. You don't have to ask me permission. I told you, me casa is su casa."

"I do not want to impose."

"You already did that. You know. When you became my bedwarmer." 

Spock dropped his water glass into the sink. It make a horrific clanking noise. Luckily it was plastic, didn't break and he quickly scooped it up. "My apologies." 

"I'll be out there." McCoy left the bathroom again. Suddenly there was a transporter noise, the uniforms materialized. "About fucking time," he said aloud to himself. 

He separated out Spock's complete uniform set, plus regulation underwear and undershirt and socks and boots. He walked into the bathroom, to hand it to Spock, when he stopped short. Spock was standing there, shaving, completely nude. McCoy allowed himself a glance at the Vulcan's bare backside, before laying the uniform down, and slinking out of the bathroom again. Oh dear lord, that tight little ass.

There was a knock on the door. McCoy opened it, to find it was the food. The room service guy brought it in on a silver tray, along with a table to eat it at. McCoy thanked him, gave him a tip with his credit card. The guy seemed nervous, McCoy guessed it was the celebrity effect. The guy left. McCoy closed the door, walked over to the bathroom. "Food's here, Spock."

"I am not hungry, Dr. McCoy." Spock, wearing his pants, boots, finished pulling on his tunic. He tugged the bottom of it, smoothed it down. 

"I paid for it, you're gonna eat it." 

"I fail to understand why you did not ask me if I wanted breakfast--" 

"Brunch."

"--brunch. I am not hungry, therefore if I do not desire a meal, it is ridiculous to assume and therefore order me something to eat, when I do not wish it," Spock's voice was calm, but it was obvious he was annoyed. And hung over. 

"You haven't had a thing to eat since yesterday morning, dammit. Eat something! I even got you some tea."

Spock sighed. "What kind?"

"Your favorite." 

"How do you know what my favorite is?"

"Because I know." McCoy studied the Vulcan's face, smirked, trying not to burst out into laughter.

"What is the matter?"

"You still have pink shaving cream on your face." He reached up, touched the Vulcan's cheek, wiped it off. He could smell the scent of it on Spock. It was beguiling. They locked eyes a moment before McCoy broke the spell. "You gonna eat some food or do I have to run a PICC line on ya, and force feed you intravenously?"

"If you put it that way, Doctor, I have no choice." The Vulcan followed him out of the bathroom, then sat down across from him at the table.

"Isn't this nice?" McCoy said. "Nice attractive lace tablecloth."

Spock reached over, pulled the silver cover off his food, which consisted of a crossant, with a vegetarian protein, with vegan cheese, and vegetables and rice. "Rather fussily plated."

"It's gourmet."

"I realize that." 

"You're just not in the mood, I get it. No, seriously, Spock, I know." McCoy drank his coffee and Spock sipped on his tea with the TV on, behind them. McCoy picked up a newspaper PADD that the room service guy had dropped off. Read the news stories of the day, it was all him and Spock. Their kissing on the front page, a bio about him that they'd reprinted from Earth. It was like reading about a different person, this 'Doctor McCoy' fella. Not him. He was fully engrossed in reading about himself, drinking his coffee when Spock blurted out:

"Did we engage in intercourse?"

McCoy couldn't help but spit out his coffee. He glanced up. "Hmm?" he said, forcing the innocent tone. 

"Did you and I have intercourse? Sexually?" 

McCoy rubbed his face. "Is there any other kind? Besides 'social intercourse', I guess."

"So you mean to say that you and I did in fact engage in sexual penetration, such as oral or anal?"

"Oral or anal, hmmm," McCoy said. "Does it have to be one or the other? Why not both? Not at the same time, obviously. We aren't contortionists."

"We did?" Spock's eyes were wide.

"I did not say that."

"I cannot remember."

"Why not? Oh right. It must have been all of that Jello you ate. Jesus man, you ate almost the entire fucking platter of it. And the Jello was spiked."

"With what?"

"With cornflakes, Spock," McCoy said. Spock raised an eyebrow at that, until McCoy shook his head. "It was spiked with booze, hence why you got so intoxicated. How much do you remember?"

"I remember up until you and I...got to the bed, and we were..." Spock cleared his throat. "Then I woke up in the morning. With you in...my arms."

"You remember engaging in tonsil hockey and saying the word 'fuck' last night? 'Fucking bullshit', you said. I'll admit that was pretty goddamned hot."

"Leonard," Spock said, his tone actually pleading. "Did we or did we not?"

At that, McCoy decided to quit teasing the Vulcan. "No, for your information, we did not engage in any sexual intercourse or penetration. Oral nor anal. What in the hell do you take me for? Some kind of fucking sexual deviant?"

"I am understandably curious as to why I have a long gap in my memory."

"That's because I knocked you out, with anti-ol. Before anything could happen." 

"I see. Why were you snuggled up against me when I awoke?"

"I wasn't 'snuggled' up against you. That's a filthy lie."

"Doctor, please answer my question."

"Because I--" McCoy's voice caught at that moment. "I had to watch over you. You'd never had to take anti-ol before. I was uh...."

"Worried?"

McCoy frowned. Looked down at his PADD. "Nope. Y'know what, Spock? You're lucky we didn't engage in any 'intercourse'. You were doing your level best to fuck me, that's for sure. I had to fight you off of me."

Spock dropped his fork onto the plate with a loud clatter. He quickly picked it up. "Forgive me. I am not normally so forward." 

McCoy shrugged. "Ehhh. Ain't no thing. I knew it was the booze talking, making you want me, making you look at the moon out on the balcony in nothing but your underpants. It's okay. Never happen again, will it."

"You seemed to rather enjoy what transpired on the red carpet, last night," Spock shot back.

McCoy slammed his hand down on the table. "Blast it! You don't think I know they're doing their damnest to try and trick us to be in a sexual relationship? It's difficult trying to function on this planet with my privacy intact."

" _Our_ privacy," Spock corrected, motioning towards the TV screen. McCoy blushed, looked down at his food. Suddenly he wasn't hungry any more, he pushed his plate away. On the flip side, Spock must have been hungrier than he was willing to admit, he'd practically inhaled his meal. McCoy picked up his PADD again.

After a few moments, Spock stood up, walked around. McCoy felt a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for the breakfast." There was also the other unsaid _thanks_ , with that touch.

"Brunch," McCoy mumbled, not looking up from his PADD, closing his eyes at the physical contact, wanting Spock to touch him, touch him more, and at the same time jerking his shoulder so that Spock would remove it. Spock did.

"I must go meet with the captain. If he does not have other plans, I would like to collect samples today."

"Uh huh," McCoy said, still not looking at him, desperately scrolling on his PADD, to find a news story, anything, to read that didn't mention him and Spock. Nope they seemed to be the talk of the planet.

Spock got to the front door before he paused and asked: "Tonsil hockey? What is that?"

McCoy sighed. "Don't be obtuse, Mr. Spock. Just think about what tonsil hockey means." 

"I have no tonsils."

"Neither do I." 

There was a knock at the door. Spock seemed to hesitate before answering the door. It was the captain.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Spock," Jim said, entering. McCoy didn't bother to turn around to acknowledge him, however. "All professional in your uniform, I see."

"Good morning, Captain. Of course I am," Spock said. 

"Feeling better, I presume?"

"Indeed." 

"Well, I'm just going to have a chat with the doctor before you and I meet today, alright? So you can relax, go the pool if you want or the gift shop. You know, enjoy an hour's downtime. Oh wait." Jim dug a small plastic card out of his pocket. "Spending money. Go wild."

Spock took from him. "Yes, Captain." He walked to the door. "Captain. Doctor." Spock exited, shut the door behind him. 

In Spock's wake, Jim approached the table. "Ah, the 'morning after' breakfast." Jim was out of uniform and wearing some kind of stupid Tulipian civilian attire instead.

"Brunch."

"Slept together all morning? Oh you two. Snug as two bugs in a rug. Isn't that adorable? You're teaching him your evil lazy ways."

McCoy slammed down his PADD in response.

Jim looked over at the TV. "Damn you can't get away from it. It's been on all morning."

"Turn it down," McCoy demanded. 

"You heard the man, computer," Jim said. "TV on silent." There was complete, jarring silence in the room, but the screen still showed them posing then kissing in a never ending loop. McCoy coughed. Finished his coffee. Jim sat down across from him. "You gonna eat that crossant?"

"Nope."

"Is there more coffee, or was that just for you and Spock?"

McCoy gave the captain a warning glance. But waved his hand at the coffee pot. Jim helped himself to the third cup and saucer, then picked the crossant off of McCoy's plate. "What are you still doing in your rainbow underwear and robe?" 

"Haven't taken a shower yet."

"So what are we going to do about--?" Jim motioned at the television screen. "That." 

"I dunno, Jim." McCoy wouldn't look at him. 

"Anything else happen last night, after I left?"

McCoy set his PADD down. "Like what, Jim?"

Jim met his eyes. "I just would like to know what you and he are to each other."

"What in the hell do you mean by that?" McCoy said in a low growl. 

"I have a right to know, being as I'm the captain."

"He and I are still just shipmates."

"After that?" Jim motioned at the screen. 

"That kiss changes nothing. Shipmates is all I consider Mr. Spock to be. I'm certain the feeling is mutual." 

"Don't be so sure," Jim replied.

"What do you consider us to be?"

Jim hesitated. "I really don't know." 

"Well, there you go." 

"I mean look at that kiss. That's the most beautiful, passionate--when you're not pissed off at the universe-- thing I've ever seen you do." 

"I can be a lover when I wanna be." 

"Look at how you kiss him, so tenderly. God, if only I could get somebody to kiss me like that. And look at how he looks at you."

McCoy snorted. "Like hell."

"Not to change the subject," Jim said, "but I've declared shore leave for all crew. I talked to the queen, she is estatic about the Enterprise spending more time here. There will be three different sessions: Alpha, Beta and Zeta shifts will have three weeks each in rotation for a total of nine. Since you and Mr. Spock are Alpha shift, you'll remain here along with additional alpha crew, for three weeks. I shall note it in my log, as you will in yours."

"Acknowledged," McCoy said. "Have you run it by your first officer yet? He's in charge of leave rotations, you know."

"I sent him a report. I would like him to have a chance to relax."

"Now that you've declared shore leave, that means I can beam up to the Enterprise."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does."

"You're the star, you can't go yet."

"Oh, yes I can," McCoy said. "I have work to do aboard the Enterprise."

"What work?"

"Charting." 

Jim shook his head. "I need you here. Think of how disappointed the Tulipian people would be if I let you beam back aboard so soon. Plus you need the rest. I've been watching you. You've been suffering from burnout."

"I was fine before we beamed down here!" McCoy coughed into his hand.

"Bones."

"I wouldn't even be able to go outside on this planet to enjoy myself. I suppose you've seen my face on the news? The crowds of fans surrounding my limo?"

"It's not as bad as you think. Thousands of celebs on Earth go outside, around their fans, with no problems."

"If you don't want to send me up, then send Mr. Spock up to the ship."

"No, Bones."

"Jim, one or the other. Please." 

"Why?" 

McCoy hesitated, then motioned to the screen. "I think it's safe to say, I'm physically attracted to him." 

"I know," Jim said.

"By your smug look, I feel like we've had this conversation in the recent past, Jim."

"You professed your love for him already, when you were three sheets to the wind. But carry on."

"I can't be in love with him, Jim. You know any relationship between he and I would be inappropriate." 

"He's in love with you, too."

"How do you know?"

Jim motioned at the TV. "It's obvious."

McCoy snapped his fingers. "It's Newton's First Law. We need to change the acceleration. Employ some force. Jim. We can fight gravity. G equals M1 times M2 over r2, right? So we have to increase the r."

"R equals distance," Jim said.

"Precisely, Jim. Increase the distance. We have to lessen the attraction. In order to do so, you must put distance between us. Otherwise he and I are going to do something we'll regret. Something drastic." McCoy motioned at the TV. "Look what they made us do, already."

"Listen to you. Equating romantic attraction with physics formulas. That's SO Spock. You belong together. You're two peas of the same pod. You know that?"

"We are not! We're complete opposites."

"Opposites attract."

"That's quantum mechanics, Jim."

"My god, you ARE Spock. Can't you just NOT act on your feelings, huh?"

"I'm not him, maybe if I was, I'd be better off. This planet is planet conspiring against us. Something's going to happen, eventually, if you don't do something about it, Jim."

"What about Newton's fourth law? The law of superposition. That one holds here. Two or more stimuli is the sum of the responses that would have been caused by each stimulus individually. Combine powers."

"Oh Jesus fuck, Jim. What in the hell you on about?"

"And then additive decomposition. Yeah, I can out _Spock_ you, Bones, you wanna play that game. So, I have a perfect idea. Play up this celebrity business." Jim motioned at the TV. "Have a fling with Spock during shore leave. Ramp things up together. Become an invincible power couple. Fuck like rabbits. Do some of their 'talk shows' maybe one of their game shows, I was watching a crazy one this morning: Naked wrestling in multicolored edible paint, then they licked it off each other for money. The point is, get it all out of your system. Then when you go back to the ship, break things off." 

"I can't do that to him. I can't do that to myself, dammit. He means a great deal to me. He means everything. Once we cross over that line, there's no going back. Send him back to the ship, Jim." 

"Request denied."

"Jim!" 

"I said, request denied!" Jim yelled, then calmed down. "You'll have to deal with it. Get over yourself. If you can't bring yourself to fuck him, then find somebody else to romance to get your mind off of things. You and your fucking hormones."

"Find somebody else? With Spock down here? No way. Please, for the love of god, Jim, will you send Spock up to the ship? You don't need him down here, he's got a pile of duties to perform up there."

"Chekov can handle things for him. Just like Mr. Sulu does a great job in command."

"Dammit!"

"I said no, Bones. That's final."

"You want something to happen! Don't you!" McCoy yelled, his hands gesturing wildly. "You're just as bad as the Tulipians. Some kinda fucking voyeur! What's the matter with you, huh?! Why do you get such a fucking thrill seeing your hapless crew squirm, your two closest friends go through this hell, Jim?! We've been your closest, loyalest advisors, we'd do anything for you, lay down our fucking lives for you and you won't do this for us?! For him?! Get him off this planet, Jim. I'll stay here. But get him off of this rainbow rock!"

"Request denied. You can bluster all you want to." Jim folded his arms.

McCoy slammed down his PADD again. It was a wonder it was still operational with the abuse he was putting it through. "I'm gonna go take a shower. A long. Hot. Fucking shower."

"How about a cold one?" Jim said.

"Fuck no! I'm going to enjoy my shore leave! You hear me, Jim?!" McCoy stormed into the bathroom, slammed the door as hard as he could, that was something satisfying he could never do aboard ship, god it was so nice to slam a fucking door for a change. And as he'd threatened to, he took an extra long hot shower, even masturbated, then got out and shaved his face in front of the mirror, getting it nice and steamy in the bathroom. He had a massive coughing fit, however. When he eventually came out, in a towel, Jim was still there, but now there was several bouquets of flowers (tulips of course), a gift basket, gift boxes and gift bags on the coffee table.

"All of this stuff arrived when you were in the bathroom," Jim said. 

"Huh," McCoy said. He went over to it, stared at moment, then picked up a card from the table: 'From the folks at Tulipian productions Limited, these clothes are yours to keep, with our complements. We have laundered and returned your own personal items. The clothing, jewelry, shoes you wore last night are also yours to keep. If you need anything laundered, the hotel will gladly handle it for you.' McCoy noted they'd returned Spock's uniform, that awful sweater, McCoy's ridiculous rainbow cats Hawaiian-style shirt Spock had picked out, his socks and t-shirt. He glanced over at the pile of his and Spock's intermingled press conference clothing from last night. According to this note he could keep his cowboy boots and his caduceus? Fan-fucking-tastic! Almost made everything worthwhile. He stared at the gaudy ring on his right hand. "Well, that's nice of 'em." He picked up the cards from the flowers. One bouquet, the largest of course, was from the queen, along with the gift basket, a smaller bouquet was from...he set its attached card down.

Jim was right next to him. "Did they give you your Crocs back, too?"

"I hope they burned them."

Jim found them, held them up. McCoy groaned. Jim then picked up one of the cards, looked at it. "Who's Paulle?" 

"Oh, just my make-up artiste. He gave me his 'phone number' last night." 

"That's perfect!" Jim said. 

"What do you mean?" 

"You can go out with him. Call him, later today. On their Tulipian telephone. Let your fingers do the walking, like they used to say on Earth. 'Ma Bell', wasn't it? And also you can find more about Tulipian culture, the people. Think of it as a study, from an anthropologist's standpoint. You can ask him a bunch of questions about life here, see a private dwelling, attend a show maybe, or a movie, go to an art gallery, a bar, spend the night with him, fuck him senseless, get your mind off things. Have some fun."

"I'm a physician, not an anthropologist." 

"Damn, Bones. You--" Jim sniffed. "You smell good. What is that?"

"Shaving creme."

"I should get some of that. Is Paulle cute, at least?"

"What are we? Two schoolgirls? Is he cute. Listen to you. Paulle's alright. He's no Spock, but he's okay."

"Okay then. Go on one of those dates with him, have a drink or two. Then fuck him."

"Jim you want me to engage in copulation with some complete stranger on some foreign planet?" 

"Why not? I do!"

"That's you! I don't work like that." 

"Maybe you should."

McCoy stormed over to the other side of the room, grabbed his fresh uniform, took off his towel and started putting on his regulation underwear, then tee-shirt, then socks, then the trousers and boots, then finally his tunic. 

"You didn't have to wear your uniform," Jim said. "You can relax in Tulipian civvies, now. Wear your Crocs."

"I want to collect some samples with Spock."

"Aright, then. Then after that I want you to call Paulle."

"No, Jim." McCoy zipped up at the collar, yanked on his tunic to straighten out any wrinkles.

"That's an order."

"Jim!"

"You heard me." 

"Dammit!" 

There was a knock at the door. Jim went over to answer it. It was Spock. "Hello, Captain." Spock strode in, holding a few items in his arms.

"Good afternoon, Spock," Jim said. "What do you have there?"

Spock handed the captain one of them, then set the other two on an empty space on the coffee table. "I obtained these from the gift shop: 'Dr. McCoy' chocolates. A 'Dr. McCoy's favorite hits' record album. The 'Dr. McCoy' board game."

"Oh, Jesus," McCoy grumbled, rubbed his face.

"This is hysterical! We have to play the 'Dr. McCoy' board game!" Jim said, holding it in his hands, turning it over and beaming from ear to ear.

"Let's not and say we did," McCoy said. 

"Does it include his famous quotes on here? Such as: 'dammit Jim, I'm a doctor not a bricklayer', and other McCoy-isms? We have to be grumpy in order to pass 'go' and collect two hundred credits?" Jim laughed.

McCoy sighed. "You are going to rot in hell for the shit you put me through, Jim."

Spock said, "How about: 'What am I, a doctor or a moon shuttle conductor?'"

"I've never said that." McCoy held up the 'Dr. McCoy' vinyl record. "What in the devil is this? 'Dr. McCoy's Favorite Hits'? What the hell?"

"They obviously know your crappy musical tastes," Jim replied.

Spock opened up the box of chocolates, inspecting them. He picked up a square of chocolate. McCoy suddenly clamped a hand onto his wrist. "What in the hell do you think you doin'?" Spock shrugged. McCoy got his scanner out, scanned the chocolate square. "Uh uh. Chocolate on its own is intoxicating to Vulcans, it's also spiked with rum. Don't you dare. Put it down." 

"I was not going to eat the chocolate, I was merely examining it."

"Bullshit you weren't! You wanna spend your entire shore leave drunk, Spock, is that what you're fixing to do?!" McCoy found himself yelling again. "I'm pullin' medical rank on you, no more, dammit!" 

"Bones, let him eat the goddamned chocolate if he wants to."

"Over my dead body he is!" McCoy yelled, grabbing Spock's wrist even harder. 

"Alright, Spock, give it here, the doctor has spoken." Jim took the chocolate square away from the Vulcan. 

"I was not going to consume the chocolate, Dr. McCoy. The smell was intriguing, that is all."

"The 'smell was intriguing', listen to this guy," McCoy released the first officer, cocked his thumb back at him.

"Bones, put the vinyl album on so we can listen to it, and calm the fuck down, will ya?" Jim said, popping the chocolate into his own mouth. "Damn this tastes pretty good."

"Spock, go wash your hands. I'm not taking any chances with you." McCoy pointed at him. 

"Yes, Doctor." Spock obediently went to the bathroom. 

"Hey, Bones," Jim hissed. "Why can't you be nicer to him? I give him a credit card and the first thing he does is buy something for you." 

"It wasn't _for_ me, just has my face on it. I should sue this planet for using my likeness."

"He thinks about you."

"He does not, Jim!" McCoy hissed back at the captain before the first officer came out of the bathroom. "Did you sing happy birthday twice, Spock?" 

"Why would I do that? Is it someone's birthday?" Spock asked in all earnestness. Jim collapsed in giggles again. McCoy raised his eyebrow at Spock, Spock did the same back at him: 'what the hell is Jim's fucking problem'. They both patiently waited, stone faced, for Jim to calm down.

*

He was raring to get outside, but they were still in his room. He and Jim both drank another cup of coffee as Jim had insisted upon listening to the stupid 'McCoy's Favorite hits' tracks or what ever it was. First few songs were by somebody named Renee Armand from Earth, who sang: "The Morning After" from The Posiedon Adventure, then another song: "Lost". Then another song: "I want you (She's so heavy)", by the Beatles. Yeah, he liked these songs, but he wasn't in the mood right now.

"There's got to be a morning after, we're moving close to shore, I know we'll be there tomorrow...." Jim warbled, off-pitch. "You like this song, Bones?"

"I do not." McCoy ripped the needle off the record, making a loud scratch as he did so. 

"Hey, I was listening to that," Jim said. The captain took another square of the chocolate, popped it into his mouth, before McCoy forcably shut the box on him. 

"It's my room," McCoy told him. "I've heard enough music for today. Mr. Spock, Ready when you are to gather samples."

"Acknowledged, Dr. McCoy." 

*

McCoy had a few spare test tubes. They'd collected a fair amount of samples of rainbow colored sand from the beach, then they walked over to a nearby park where they could hear children playing on a playground. Trying to be as unnoticeable as possible, they collected some rainbow colored native plants, some rainbow soil, rainbow blades of grass, various other items of note.

"Ah, look," McCoy said. "There's a Tulipian bee."

Spock stared at the creature as it buzzed and hovered and jumped from violet flower to pink flower to green flower. "Fascinating."

"It's just as festively rainbow-y as everything else," McCoy replied.

"Indeed, if that is a word."

"What's the matter, Mr. Spock, you never heard of the word 'rainbow-y'? Look at that thing. Everything about it is a bee but in color: Yellow antennae, red thorax, green legs, purple feet, I wonder what their cats and dogs look like." Spock shrugged. "Do we dare?" McCoy hissed, even though nobody else was around.

"We really should not, however I am determined to get to the bottom of this anomaly."

"We won't hurt a hair on its head. We'll let him go after."

"Her."

"You're right of course. Where's my brain?"

"I am assuming it is female." 

"We cannot assume anything on this rock." McCoy glanced up, there seemed to be a crowd of Tulipian people now watching them, creeping up on them. Somebody had alerted them to their presence. Was it because they were collecting samples? Did they have something to hide, perhaps? Did the queen know what they were up to? He caught the bee, put it into a test tube, but not before the thing stung him, of course. "Goddammit." 

Spock clamped down on his finger with his own hand. "Careful."

"I was." There was a rainbow stinger attached, he managed to dig it out. "So much for taking it alive."

Spock sighed. 

McCoy glanced up, the crowd seemed to be drawing closer. "Should we go back inside?" 

"Yes." They put their samples inside their respective tri-corders, began walking. McCoy briefly glanced behind them. The crowd, which was growing large, followed. "Oh shit. We're in trouble."

"Hurry," Spock said. 

They rushed back across the street to the hotel. The hotel entranced looked clear when they approached. As soon as they hit the driveway, however, they were surrounded by a group of young ladies, dressed in Tulipian fashions, who backed them against a rainbow brick wall. "Dr. McCoy! We're big fans of yours, can we have your autograph?" 

He stopped. Looked around at them all. Unsure. "Well, uh...I don't think...." 

"Dr. McCoy cannot stop for autographs at this time," Spock said, placing his body between McCoy and the girls.

"Oh please? Please, Dr. McCoy! We've been waiting for hours!"

McCoy exchanged frantic looks with Spock. Found himself capitulating. "Maybe just one. Then you all have to git." They handed him something, and a pen. He signed it, then another one was thrust in his face. He signed that one and the next one. Maybe if he hurried up and signed all of these, then they'd go and he could get away. 

"Young ladies," Spock was saying, "please do not crowd." 

The Tulipian women didn't listen. As soon as McCoy had finished signing their items, more were shoved into his hands. Then a new crowd showed up, pushing the women away, pushing against him, he found himself hemmed in by them. They were crushing him against the wall, pushing into him. He looked out into the crowd. He suddenly didn't see Spock. He called out. The crowd became more than just females, young men too and other genders, and roudy and pushing him, somebody was tugging on his uniform, trying to tear off a piece of it, trying to get his tri-corder, he smacked a hand away, but the crowd kept pushing and pushing him harder against the wall, and now he couldn't breathe the crush was so bad, he couldn't reach his communicator. 

He heard off in the distance, Spock's voice: "Spock to Enterprise, two to beam up, lock on to Dr. McCoy and I's body prints, energize."

He closed his eyes.

Someone grabbed onto his forearms. He smacked them away, frantic, until he heard: "Doctor. It's me." He opened his eyes to find himself on the transporter platform.

The first officer stepped down from the pads, walked to the console, flipped the communications switch. "Spock to Captain Kirk."

Scotty stood watching as McCoy took a shaky step down. "Dr. McCoy are you alright?"

"Yeah. Fine."

" _Kirk here, what's going on, Spock_?"

"The doctor and I are aboard the Enterprise."

" _Trouble_?"

"We ran into a large crowd of adoring Tulipian citizens down there. We were unable to escape on foot, so I had us beamed aboard."

" _Good, Mr. Spock. You two okay_?"

"I believe so, Captain."

" _Okay. Spend a few hours aboard, get your bearings, see how things are going up there, then return_."

"Acknowledged, Spock out." Spock flipped the switch.

"Doctor?" Scotty was saying, drawing closer. "Are you alright?"

"Huh?" McCoy replied. His legs felt like jelly, he pitched forward. Scotty caught him. He blinked and the transporter room faded to black.

_____________  
on to next chapter...


	11. Mi Casa es Su Casa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy recuperates aboard the Enterprise. Meanwhile, Spock finds some interesting data in regards to their specimens they collected on Tulip II. Some UST.

McCoy woke up in sickbay, to familiar antiseptic smells, and familiar reassuring beeps, dressed in patient's scrubs and Dr. M'Benga standing over him, the doctor studying the telemetry panel above his head. 

"Well, well, well, if it isn't sleeping beauty," Dr. M'Benga said. "Hi, Leonard." Sickbay seemed to be devoid of any other staff. He and M'Benga were alone.

McCoy groaned. "What happened?" 

"Just a little anaphylaxis." M'Benga motioned down at McCoy's hand. 

McCoy held up his bandaged forearm and hand. "Woah."

"How come bee allergy's not listed in your chart?"

"Never been allergic to bee venom," McCoy studied his hand and forearm again, marveled at how his fingers were twice the size they should be, "before."

"Well, you are to the ones on Tulip II. Must be _some_ bees." 

"Tulip II's real?"

M'Benga studied him with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean? Of course it's real."

McCoy shifted a little, coughed, his voice felt scratchy and hoarse. "You know what's funny, Geoff? I had this weird, terrifying feeling you were going to tell me that the planet Tulip II was all just a figment of my imagination. That I'd been a coma this entire time and just woke up."

"No way. I'll itching to get down there and party. You're famous down there."

"Don't remind me." 

"I can name drop you at the dance club. Should be wild."

"Yeah," McCoy agreed, and finally smiled. "That place is pretty damned crazy."

"Well, Mr. Spock should arrive any minute now. He told me to call him when you woke up."

"Where's the captain?"

"Still down on Tulip II, enjoying himself no doubt," Dr. M'Benga said with a wistful tone.

"Hmph. Nice to know he cares about me."

"In his defense, the captain wanted to beam up. Mr. Spock told him not to bother. You're gonna be okay." 

"Good. Thanks Geoff." 

M'Benga folded his arms, as Spock entered sickbay. "There is one more thing, Dr. McCoy," M'Benga said, the other physical switching to titles when the _first officer_ was in earshot. "Something rather alarming showed up on your scan."

McCoy's eyes darted over to Spock, who remained silent, then back to M'Benga. "Let's have it." 

"You've got quite a bit of inflammation in both of your lung sacs. I'm at a loss as to how you may have acquired it." 

McCoy was about to open his mouth, when Spock dove in to answer: "Dr. McCoy nearly drowned in a hotel water tank."

M'Benga reacted to this, alarmed. "When was this?"

"A few days ago. Sleep walking," McCoy told him.

"Sleep walking," M'Benga said, folding his arms. "Was alcohol involved by any chance?"

"Yes, it was while he was inhebriated," Spock replied. 

"Thanks, Dad," McCoy muttered. 

"Must have been some party," M'Benga said. "Wish I'd been there."

McCoy gave Spock a look. "I was treated planet side by some...hotel physician with an antibiotic hypodermic, couldn't tell you what it was. I followed up with my own course of Arizthromicin." He coughed again. "All I had available down there."

M'Benga nodded. "So, simple aspiration of fluids is the cause. You'll need to stay aboard the Enterprise for at least 24 hours for further treatment."

McCoy glanced over at the Vulcan, then back to M'Benga. "You act as if I should be upset by this."

"You're wasting precious shoreleave time hanging around here," M'Benga said. 

"Don't care. I'm all shoreleaved out, to be honest." 

"Humph. If only we could all be so lucky to be on first rotation."

McCoy looked at Spock again. "Maybe some other overworked physicians should be placed on first rotation, rather than me."

"Hey, you're the CMO, not I."

"Where's Chapel and Burke?"

"Guess where? Lucky ladies. I'll let the two of you talk." M'Benga excused himself. 

"Yes, what can I do you for, Mr. Spock?" McCoy said. 

Spock held up a test tube. "Your bee." 

"Ah, the bastard that stung me." McCoy held up his bandaged limb. "Look at what the fucker did to me."

" _Apis Mellifera_ ," Spock said.

"Earth domestic honey bee," McCoy replied.

"Precisely. This specimen is genetically identical to an Earth bee."

"Just possessing different colors of the spectral rainbow," McCoy said.

"Negative. Look more closely." Spock handed over the test tube. 

McCoy studied it. "Fascinating." The damned thing was no longer multicolored, it looked exactly like an Earth bee in every way shape and form, even in color. "How? What about the other samples?"

"Identically colored to what would be on Earth. Green grass and plants, yellow and light brown sand, creme colored sea shells, brown dirt. All genetically exact or similar to Earth species." 

"Radiation," McCoy said. "Causing the discrepancy. Altering our perceptions, our sensory organs so we perceive colors differently there. Radiation which isn't present aboard ship." 

"A sound theory, however, I have not finished running all of the tests as of yet. I was relieving Mr. Chekov on watch for a rest period." 

McCoy sighed, shifted in the biobed. "Wish I could help." He suddenly had a vivid memory from way back when, when he'd gotten his very first summer research internship position, through the University of Georgia. Studying fruit flies. He'd applied so he could put the internship on his med school application. Since he was undergrad the position entailed little more than a glorified glass slide prepper and test tube washer and the Phd he was working for got all the credit for any research, but he'd gotten to wear a white coat that whole summer, look official, get a discount at the local restaurants, get priority parking in the university parking lot, and more importantly earn a stipend so he and Jocelyn could pay the rent, get his landlord off his back, that fucking landlord that used to enter their apartment any ol' goddamned time she wished, it was against the lease but she fucking did it anyway, the nosy busybody. One time--

"Doctor."

"Huh?" McCoy snapped back to the present.

Spock smirked. "I do realize you are frustrated, but you will have to rely on my data at this time."

McCoy nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. And thank you for walking me to sickbay."

M'Benga returned, standing in the doorway, to interrupt with: "You didn't walk in. Mr. Spock carried you in. Rather sweet if you ask me." The doctor grinned.

McCoy bristled at that. "Nobody's asking you, are they?" 

M'Benga shrugged. "Hey, gentlemen, I saw you on the Tulipian news. The entire ship did. Explain that one away."

"It's fake news," McCoy shot back at him. "Caught in the moment." 

"Must have been some moment," M'Benga said, folding his arms.

"Blast it!" McCoy huffed.

"Excuse me, Doctors, I must return to the bridge," Spock said. The Vulcan arched an eyebrow and exited. 

*

After Dr. M'Benga had treated his aberrant lungs and kicked him out of sickbay with the order: "Get some goddamned rest, Leonard," and the other doctor just dying to ask him about the details of what had transpired on the planet between him and Spock, but to his credit, M'Benga held back and when he'd tried to perform a little light duty until M'Benga protested-- he'd skulked out and wandered down the quiet corridor in a spare duty uniform he'd obtained from his office.

He entered his quarters which seemed stark, cold, lonely and entirely too quiet, after his stint in that goddamned tacky but comfortable Tulip II hotel 'honeymoon suite', but he supposed he'd recuperate on the Enterprise for a few more hours, then beam down to the craziness again. 

A text message appeared on his monitor from none other than Her Majesty Queen Tulip herself( who'd apparently discovered he was on the Enterprise, maybe Jim had told her): ' _Please get well soon and come back, we miss you. Don't worry, word has not gotten out about your absence, and those naughty fans who trapped you have been detained by hotel security personnel and will be prosecuted_.' 

The queen was sweet but he didn't want those fans to be prosecuted at all, they were just kids, and he made a mental note to ask the queen about it. Hopefully they were not jailed or worse. On second thought he contacted Jim directly: "McCoy to Captain Kirk."

" _Kirk here, hey Bones! Feeling better_?"

"I will after a nap in my quarters." 

" _Alright, I'll allow that_." 

"Jim, I want you to do something for me, willya? Find out about whats gonna happen to those kids. I don't want any charges brought against them. They were just excited. Not their fault they ran into a celebrity."

Jim chuckled. " _Listen to you. Already embracing the lifestyle. Duly noted. I'll intercede on your behalf to the queen_."

"Thank you, Jim."

" _Alright, rest up, and come back_."

"McCoy out." 

He was a little hungry so he gulped down some of that awful reconstituted Enterprise food. Ah, nothing like tasteless Enterprise computer generated chicken soup. He immediately wished he was having a delectable five course dinner on Tulip II. "Computer. Locate First Officer Spock."

" _Mr. Spock is in his quarters_."

Perfect. He flipped the switch. "McCoy to Spock."

" _Spock here_."

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

" _Ah, Doctor. Negative. I have completed shore leave assignments and now am writing a report on my preliminary findings on our specimens. I endeavored to send it to you after completion. Should you not be resting_?"

"I am. Mind if I come by? I'm eager to see your report, even if it's unfinished." 

There was a pause, then: " _Would you like me to come to you_?"

"No, I'll head over there." 

" _Acknowledged, Spock out_."

*

When McCoy arrived, Spock was sitting at his desk, as was normal for the Vulcan in quarters, but what wasn't normal, the first officer was listening to: 'The Beatles, Sgt. Pepper: Lonely Heart's Club Band' album. 

McCoy waved up at the ceiling. "What's with the music?"

"It helps me concentrate," the Vulcan replied.

"Really? That's strange."

"I do this on occasion," Spock said.

"I didn't know you were a Beatles fan."

"There is obviously a great deal you do not know about me, Doctor," Spock said pointedly. 

"Oh. I see." McCoy folded his arms. "I suppose there is." 

"Would you prefer the music off?" Spock asked, as he handed over his PADD with his incomplete report on it. Mostly just the abstract. 

"Nope." McCoy glanced at the report. "You have a spelling error here. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Spock took his PADD back, looked at it. Grimaced, then sighed and began to fix the error. "What is your opinion of the findings, Doctor?"

"Fascinating, to coin a phrase. I obviously want to run my own experiments on the samples, compare my data with yours. But I guess that will have to wait three weeks, now."

"Unfortunately."

"I'm glad you got a jump on it, however."

Spock nodded. "My data is inconclusive."

In silence, they listened to the rest of 'Sgt. Pepper', taking in the glorious symphonic rock sounds. McCoy mused it was like communing or something. He liked when they could be quiet together. They didn't have to fill the time with nervous conversation. After a long while, the music finished. Spock made no move to order the computer to play something else.

"Amazing musicians, those Beatles," McCoy said.

"Hmmm," Spock said in affirmation.

They were quiet for several more moments.

"Spock," McCoy finally said, leaning his head back in the first officer's chair. 

"Yes?"

"I know we've been through this already, but are you absolutely certain the planet is all it claims to be? What we are perceiving is not a projection? There's still something that doesn't feel right to me."

"I have no evidence to support any other theory besides the planet is as presented. A reality."

"Right." McCoy yawned. "And...I know what you're about to say, if there's no evidence then...." He motioned the rest of it, with a tired air. 

Spock nodded. "I will continue to search for any more anomalies, and I am determined to find the cause of this one." He tapped his PADD then set it down. "There must be a logical reason behind it."

"Thank you. You don't know how much I'm grateful for you and your logic, right now," McCoy said as he yawned again then stood up, rather shakily. "I guess...I uh...should be...uh...." He yawned yet again. "Going to my quarters."

Spock was by his side in a flash, holding onto him. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah...I'm really tired." McCoy held up his bandaged forearm. "This and my lungs and the exhaustion catching up with me...." His balance wavered. "My quarters are so...cold, stark, and...unwelcoming and lonely," he found himself admitting. 

"You are welcome to lie down." 

"You don't need to walk me back to my abode...." McCoy huffed out a laugh. "You already carried me into sickbay. Since the crew already saw us on the news broadcast, they'll have even more ammo to waggle their tongues about."

"In my bed," Spock said.

McCoy's eyes widened. "Then where are you going to sleep?" 

For a minute he was irrationally afraid that Spock was going to suggest they sleep together but instead Spock suggested: "I am about to stand watch on the bridge. I do not require as much sleep as a human. You may rest alone in my bunk for eight hours."

"Are you sure?"

Spock walked him over, sat him down on his bunk. "I am certain. As you yourself have said: 'Mi casa is su casa'." 

McCoy let out a nervous giggle.

The Vulcan knelt down, gently removed McCoy's boots, then his tunic, then stood and pushed him to a reclining position, put a duvet over him. If this was anybody else McCoy would have sworn Spock was tucking him in. "Rest." Before he closed his eyes, McCoy spied Spock folding up the tunic before laying it aside. Spock ordered: "Computer. Set temperature to a comfortable 70 degrees. Is that cool enough for you, Doctor?"

"S'fine, thanks. Your bunk. It's no heart shaped bed, is it." 

"I thought you disliked your gaudy heart-shaped bed, with the rose petals?" Spock asked in an amused tone.

"It was kinda growing on me, ya know?"

"You shall be there in a few hours, unless you wish to beam down presently?"

"No, no, here's fine." McCoy figured he should stop complaining.

"Would you like some music?" 

"Yeah, that would be nice." Instead of ordering the computer, however, Spock was fiddling with something right next to him. McCoy opened his eyes, glanced over to his left to realize the Vulcan had a--"You have an antique record player? Where'd that come from? You didn't steal that contraption from Tulip II, didya?" 

"It belongs to Lieutenant Uhura. I contacted her on the planet and asked to borrow it. She has my harp as collateral," Spock said. McCoy chuckled at that. "I own a small vinyl record collection I had never been able to play before now."

"No kidding. That's why 'Sgt. Pepper' sounded so damned good."

"Indeed." Spock flipped a switch and the first few strands of The Beatles: 'Abbey Road' began. "If you find that the music is irritating, you can wave your hand over it to turn it off. If not it will finish the album on its own."

"I guarantee I'll be asleep before it's finished. Thank you, Spock."

"Sleep well, Doctor." Spock nodded at him, then exited. 

McCoy lay there in Spock's bunk for a few moments. "Well, how do you like that," he muttered to himself. He was a little unnerved to say the least. He'd been in Spock's quarters thousands of times but never alone like this. Never really bothered to studied the decor, before. Spock certainly had more creature comforts than he did: Beautiful sculptures, climbing plants, a red curtain, artwork, a soothing waterfall in the corner. Damn it was nice. Cozy.

He very carefully-- minding his balance issues-- got up out of bed, walked to the head to pee, and it honestly felt like he was intruding, he'd definitely never been in Spock's bathroom before. As he flushed and washed his hands he noted that Spock even had nice fluffy red towels. How'd the Vulcan manage that? Pretty stone decorations. There was even a gorgeous mirror in the bathroom. 

He got back into the bunk, turned his head on the pillow. Damn the thing smelled like Spock. And how did he know what Spock smelled like?

"Because I've smelled him, before," he whispered to himself, barely audible, but it was enough to shock him into silence. He couldn't help but remember that kiss on the red carpet, then later that night in his hotel room, that filthy, sexy make-out session with a drunken Vulcan. He remembered what Spock tasted like. What his lips felt like. Spock's hands running all over his body. Spock's eyes, blown wide with lust. It couldn't happen again. He had to make sure of that. 

Of course his dick started to become interested in his thoughts but he wouldn't dare touch himself in Spock's bunk. No way in hell. He thought about all the charting work that needed doing in sickbay, maybe he could reorganize his desk. That certainly made it go down.

Regret resting heavily upon his heart, he finally dozed off to the beautiful harmonies of 'Because' from 'Abbey Road'. 

A few hours later, he didn't know how many, he was briefly half awakened by someone entering the cabin, standing over him, then going to the viewer. "Mr. Spock."

" _Yes, Yeoman Smith_?" Spock's voice from the viewer replied.

"Are you aware that Dr. McCoy is asleep in your bunk?"

" _Affirmative, Yeoman_ ," Spock said very tiredly or annoyed. " _Please exit my quarters with haste_."

"Aye sir." The yeoman walked out.

McCoy rolled over, fell back asleep. 

Much later, it must have been, he woke up. He sat up in Spock's bunk to realize the first officer had returned, and was sitting at his desk. McCoy got up, yawning, made the bed, then put his boots and tunic back on, before walking over. "Well, hello there, Spock."

"Did you have a nice rest?" Spock asked with an air of amusement.

"I did, thank you. Feeling much better."

"You should be, after 9.07 hours," Spock said. "The captain anticipated our return sooner than that."

"I was tired," McCoy said. "He can wait."

"Obviously."

McCoy casually walked into Spock's bathroom like he'd been doing it all his life, went pee. Flushed, washed his hands. Came out. "How come your head is nicer than mine is?"

"I am the first officer," Spock stated, in all seriousness, as he calmly read a report. 

They were delaying the inevitable. "I suppose we have to beam back down now," McCoy said. "To uh...the planet. Time's run out on us."

"Affirmative." 

He stood there, looking at Spock, unsure of what to say next. "Did you uh...find anything else unusual about Tulip II?" Like hopefully there was some secret Klingon installation just discovered, or a surge of energy, or a suddenly poisonous atmosphere they hadn't known about before now or maybe some radiation they hadn't noticed yet, or some brewing civil unrest or anything to interrupt this hell he was about to beam down to, yet again.

Spock shook his head. "Not yet. Tulip II appears to truly be a planetary paradise. Jim appears rather enamored of the place."

"There's no such thing as a true paradise."

"Believe me, Leonard, I will find the major flaw," Spock quipped, still reading his report. McCoy laughed. "Until then...."

"Right. Well, I uh...I guess her majesty the queen will have an action packed shoreleave planned for both of us."

"She certainly will for you, at least. The celebrity," Spock replied with a smirk. 

McCoy coughed in his fist. "Hey uh...you know...I just realized, you don't normally take a long shore leave. So, uh...you and I, we could uh....y'know. Uh...."

"Yes?" Spock looked up, met his eyes.

He shouldn't really but he was sorely tempted to invite the Vulcan out to dinner, or maybe they could attend something together, some kind of event, down on the planet but for some reason, now he had the Vulcan's full attention, he couldn't get the words out. His heart rate and breaths were increasing. Don't do it. "Nothing. I'm going to go freshen up and pack a couple things."

*

In his quarters, he grabbed several pairs of comfortable denim jeans, socks, underwear, shirts, boots, a jacket. Anything of his own would be less gaudy than the latest Tulipian fashions. He shoved it all into a small duffel bag. He elected to keep his uniform on until he reached his hotel room.

The swelling had gone down in his hand. He undid the bandages, threw them in the recycler. His palm boasted a nice purple bruise where the bite was. 

He met Spock in Turbolift B. Spock also had a small duffel with him. That meant the Vulcan was also going to change out of his duty uniform and into leisure clothing. For leave. He had butterflies in his stomach, couldn't help but eagerly anticipate what Spock in comfortable civvies would look like. He was tempted to speak up again, tried to find the perfect opportunity to invite the Vulcan out for a friendly dinner, but stopped himself again. Instead, Spock hit the intercomm button. "Captain, Dr. McCoy and I are preparing to beam down." 

" _Change of plans, Mr. Spock_ ," Jim said. " _Listen. I want you to switch your leave period with Mr. Scott_." 

"Mr. Scott is on rotation three," Spock said. 

" _I'm aware_ ," Kirk replied. Spock met McCoy's eyes. The Vulcan knew what that meant. That meant they wouldn't be having shore leave together.

"Hey, Jim. It's okay," McCoy began. "It's alright, Jim." 

" _You and the other third watch officer...uh, who is it now...Mr. Chekov, will stay aboard. I'm sure you'll love that, anyway, Mr. Spock_ ," Jim was saying. 

Spock kept the eye contact. "I see, Captain." 

" _Kirk out_."

Spock hit the switch. 

They didn't say a word, the lift opened, and they walked to the transporter room. Spock hit the intercomm again. "Mr. Scott."

" _Aye, Mr. Spock?_ "

"You have ten minutes to ready yourself for shoreleave. Captain's orders." 

" _Shit. I was in the middle of a bloody diagnostic test, ach...._ " Then there was a stream of curse words from the chief engineer streaming out from the intercomm. 

"Fascinating, I have not heard that particular phrase before," Spock said. 

McCoy chuckled in spite of his new disapointment. He supposed it was for the best after all.

They didn't talk, or look at each other for several moments, waiting for Mr. Scott to show up. 

The queen's voice suddenly came in on the intercomm. " _Queen Tulip to Enterprise. Queen Tulip to Enterprise, oh how fun! I love this communicator_."

Spock hit the switch. "This is Mr. Spock. Yes, Your Majesty?" 

" _Oh my dear beloved, Mr. Spock, I have heard the news that you have ship based work to perform at this time. I'm so sorry, so sad. But I'm looking forward to Dr. McCoy rejoining us. Just be aware that there will be crowds anticipating your arrival. We promised the media you'd say a few words to the assembled. All you have to do is say that you're very glad to be back. That's all. We're so happy you're returning, my dear _."__

"I thought nobody down there knew I was gone?" McCoy said.

" _The media found out, leaked it. You know how it is. Here I'll hand the communicator back to Captain Kirk_."

McCoy looked over at the Vulcan. Jim came on, gave several boring administrative orders like he usually did to the first officer when prepping for leave.

"Acknowledged," Spock said. "Spock out." Spock hit the switch. 

"What in the hell is keeping Scotty?" McCoy wondered. 

Suddenly the chief engineer came through the doors. Still swearing and grumbling. 

McCoy stepped onto the pads, waited for Scotty to join him. 

He and Spock locked eyes, as the Vulcan operated the controls. For some reason, Spock looked particularly sad and lonely, almost longing. It was probably his imagination. They kept up their eye contact, until McCoy saw stars, the Enterprise fading away. 

Tulip II solidified around him, as McCoy and Scotty materialized on the planet's surface. Jim, wearing some new crazy leisure wear, and the queen, wearing a flowing sparkly gown and her tiara, were next to him. They were surrounded by a crush of people, jostling, screaming at his arrival. Their celebrity had returned.

"Bloody Hell. What in god's name is this?!" Scotty yelled out.

______________________  
on to next chapter


End file.
